


to desecrate the stars

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, BDSM, Begging, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Master/pet undertones, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Mutual Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Shibari, Smoking, Spanking, Subspace, Torture, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 12:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16912623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: AU. Jack's a petty thief, struggling to pay for rent and a debt that's not even his when he makes the mistake of stealing something that the mob is after. But, when he offers to suck the mob boss's dick in exchange for his life, he hadn't expected to become his pet.





	1. brokered yourself a deal

**Author's Note:**

> This has been my hell for like, 5 days. 
> 
> This AU had been _**fueled**_ entirely by two of my best friends, Adam and Ryo. I also owe a shout out to my friend Kam for letting me babble to him about it, too. I was watching the Spider-Man DLC for The Heist and my brain really really really wanted to do an art thief au, and this is what resulted from it. I wanted to try something new, which is the first part you're going to see, and then I talked to Adam and Ryo about what to do as subsequent parts and this whole disaster happened.
> 
> There's definitely going to be more, because I have so many filthy ideas for it and I'm eager to explore the concepts. I do apologize for my smut being mildly subpar and unsexy at intervals--I wrote half of this on my work computer so I was having to dodge wandering eyes lmao. But overall this has been so fun--I haven't had a muse like this in ages.
> 
> Please enjoy! If you have any suggestions for kinks you'd like to see please let me know ;)

Shit. _Shit_.

This rope, against his wishes, is not getting any looser. 

Fuckface #1 has a gun trained on him, while Fuckface #2 pulls out some retro-ass looking cellphone that Jack's not sure where he got it. Perhaps a burner? 

"Got a kid, boss," Fuckface #2 is saying, glancing back at him with cold, emotionless eyes. "Yeah, we got the painting. Cops are on their way, no doubt. Kid came in and tried to steal it first, but we got him tied up pretty. Should we handle him as normal?" 

_Normal._ Probably means death, if that gun is anything to go by.

Fuck. Fuck. 

There's a long, drawn out pause. "You sure? He's kind of a volatile one. He bites hard, boss." 

Jack can still taste the remnants of blood. Good. It's good to know it hurts them, at least. 

"Alright, we'll bring him in." 

Fuckface #2 hangs up with a click, and looks to Fuckface #1. "Boss says bring him back to HQ."

"For real?" Fuckface #1 asks, waving his gun. Jack's not really into that whole thing. One misclick and _boom_. "We should just kill him. He bit the hell out of me, probably has something, the little monster."

"Fuck you," Jack replies, mustering up just enough spit to fire it at him. "Rot in hell."

Fuckface #1 gestures at him like this is the very reason they should kill him. Fuckface #2 pushes the gun down. "The boss said bring him in. Do you really want to be the one turning up without the kid he ordered?"

There's a long, meaningful gaze between the two, before he lowers his gun for good.

"Fine," says Fuckface #1. "But we're gagging him. Boss'll probably like that, anyhow." 

~~

Duck tape tastes fucking disgusting against his mouth.

Jack has no idea where he's going. They'd tied something over his eyes so he couldn't see shit, and the whole ride back is bumpy, uncomfortable, and awkward, mostly because he's about eighty percent sure they stuffed him into the trunk of something. With no depth perception, his only hope is that whoever “boss” is decides he's not worth killing.

How the hell does he always end up here? He's just some petty thief, trying to pay rent on time and pay for the debt that his deceased parents had left him saddled with. He found out, much to his own chagrin, that he had a talent for hacking and smooth talking, and fuck if that doesn't help him get from point A to point B in daily life. He never hurts anyone, and how was he supposed to know the goddamn mob wanted the same goddamn thing he was after?

The jostling ceases and before long, he's being hauled out of the trunk, which, yeah, it sounds like that's what it was. He's so goddamn exhausted at this point, knees shaking, and he's probably got some sort of low blood sugar. Jack knew he should've eaten before he hit the job, but it's never taken this long to finish one. 

Fuckface #1 and #2 are still there, joined by the voices of other Fuckfaces, presumably. They drag him up a flight of stairs, and Jack can't even work up the energy to fight against him. Maybe if he just bows his head and acts the part of a subservient little doe, they won't do anything to him. 

It's a stupid wish, but he's got little else at this point. 

There's three knocks before a low hum, and the door squeaks open in what appears to be the most ominous manner Jack's ever heard. They drag him inside, and before he knows it, his nose is smashing against surprisingly plush carpet, and there's a foot at his back to keep him down.

Nothing is spoken, and Jack feels his heart ramming against his rib cage. 

Then, a low, almost velvet voice, “This is him?”

“Sure is,” Fuckface #2 confirms easily. He bears a bit more pressure down on him, and Jack can't help the whine that escapes him. “Little shit sure gave us some trouble.”

The vibrations of the floor indicate that whoever is across the room moves closer, albeit just a bit. “Really? This little thing gave you trouble? I was expecting something more...adequate.”

His cheeks heat in indignation. He tries to stay quiet. Fuckface #2 says, “He's got more fight in him than you think, boss.”

“I suppose I'll have to take your word for it,” that voice murmurs, “and give you the...benefit of the doubt that I have not hired the wrong men for being unable to handle a child.” 

“It won't happen again, sir,” Fuckface #2 mumbles, and Jack could laugh at the way he sounds so frightened, if he himself weren't so frightened. 

“See to it that it doesn't,” clipped, cold. “Now get out.”

“With the boy?” 

“No,” the voice replies. “Leave him. I want to...have a little chat.”

“I...don't know if that's—”

Whatever look passes the voice's face must've scared Fuckface #2 shitless, because the foot backs away from him in a hurry. “Are you suggesting that I cannot handle a little bunny like this, Mr. Fraser?”

“No, sir,” he replies, meek, soft. “I'll leave you to it.”

The door shuts rather quickly behind him, and Jack's just left there, on the floor, and he feels that goddamn gaze on him, regardless. 

Then, “Get up.” 

Jack sucks in a breath, then presses the palms of his hands against the floor. With what remaining energy he has, he pushes himself up, using his knees to support the rest of his weight. He has no idea where he's at, or where anything else is at, so as he stumbles to his feet, he's a little off-balance. 

Just as he's stabilizing himself, the knot at the back of his head loosens, and light floods into his vision. He hardly has the time to blink it away as the blistering pain of the duck tape being ripped off his mouth soon follows.

“Fuck!” he shouts, stumbling back a bit, barely managing to catch himself. His eyes adjust to the light, bright and white, and he blinks, before taking a look at the person in front of him. 

Tall and dark-haired, with skin so pale he looks almost ghastly, a strong jawline and angular shoulders, accentuated by the beauty of a fine-tailored suit, mapping out the length of muscle across his form. His eyes are cold, calculated, almost...curious, and a tilt of his head indicates that yeah, he's definitely interested in something. He's terrifying in a way he's never seen before. 

Jack says nothing, trying to get over the fact that despite everything, he finds him pretty handsome, all things considered. 

_This is not the time for your dick to be finding Wonderland_ , Jack thinks to himself.

Stepping forward, Jack remains very, very still as the man reaches a hand out, gripping him by the chin. He tilts his head up, looking him in the eye, and _god_ those eyes almost look red in the light. He tilts his head from side to side, as though getting a good fucking look at him, trailing a thumb over his lips before letting go. 

“Name?” he asks, almost in a purr, or the cusp of an attack. Maybe they're not so different.

He hesitates but for a moment. “Jack.” 

“Jack,” the man repeats, as though tasting the name, and whether or not he likes it is whether or not he'll be killed. For all his beauty, Jack is definitely still very frightened by what he can do. “You may call me Dark.” 

Okay, this is a good sign. Dude wouldn't give him a name if he meant to kill him. Or maybe he would. Jack nods, opting for, “Yes sir.” 

Dark's lips tilt into a thinly veiled smile. “Oh, you're going to be fun, aren't you?”

He's still very aware of the fact that his hands are tied. “I aim to please.”

“Do you, now?” Dark asks, much less of a question than it should be. “Tell me, _Jack_ , why should I not kill you, right now? Watch the light leave those pretty little eyes as I just...”

He wraps a hand around his throat, tight, but not enough to cut the air off. Just a warning. Jack swallows, and this...this amuses him. 

“Go ahead,” Dark says, not removing his hand. “Please me.” 

And there's about eight hundred things he could say. That he's useful, that he's clever. That no one ever expects him, that he knows his way around computers like no one else. He's got talents that he could use, connections he could, but what rolls out of his mouth is a solid, “I mean, you've got needs, right?”

At the very least, this seems to elicit some surprise. Dark raises a brow, a very subtle face shift, but it's still there, definitely. He says nothing, but the silence is a prompt. Jack tries very hard to not look him in the eye. “I mean. Um. I just mean--”

“Say what you mean, then,” Dark drawls out, and that hand around his throat gets just a little bit tighter. That's concerning. “I don't like to be kept waiting.”

Oh, god, please let that vague bit of interest Dark saw in him be what he thinks it is. What men in power usually want. Please let that be the thing.

“I'm just saying, that if you don't kill me,” this is gonna be terrible, “I could, I dunno, suck you off?”

He really wasn't expecting that. Dark Mob Boss Man really hasn't expected those words to come out of his throat, the very throat he'd threatened to choke the life out of, and if nothing else that brought him three seconds of extra life and the bewildered face of the mob boss. That's a photo for his metaphorical scrapbook. 

Then, just when Jack thinks he's gonna squeeze and be done with it, he _laughs_. Dark laughs, and that sound is just so fucking tickled, amused, and low, and that really shouldn't do what it's doing to him. 

“I have heard many petty bargains,” Dark murmurs, pulling his hand away. “I have heard many people beg me, claim that I could use them, that they could give me information I could not discover on my own. But never, little bunny, have I had someone offer me their body in exchange for their life.” 

Jack attempts to shrug, but can't quite get there. Those freaky eyes are watching him again, and for the first time he sees emotion in them, and he doesn't like it. More on the side of something hungry, now, and Jack has a very good feeling that he's the thing on the menu. 

“Alright then, Jack,” Dark raises a brow, inclining his head. “Get on your knees. Let's see if that pretty little mouth is as good as I think it is.” 

_You opened this can of worms_ , Jack thinks, shaking his head as he lowers himself to his knees. _Now lie in it, I guess_.

This really isn't how he imagined his Wednesday night going, but c'est la vie, and all that shit.


	2. shudders in a whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's worth mentioning that I'm an asexual woman so my knowledge of male sex is rudimentary at best.
> 
> Anything that's wrong, I definitely just take creative liberty LMAO

When Dark meanders in with a shit-eating smile and drops a suspicious little black bag on the desk in front of him, Jack narrows his gaze. 

“Do I even want to know?” he asks, shoving the bag just a little further away from him. He’d been waiting at Dark’s desk as per his instruction, but he’s almost wishing he hadn’t, now. “Do I even want to know what horrible device is inside of here this time? What is it, a shock collar?”

Dark continues to give him that lazy, amused smile. “No, though that’s a good idea for next time.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have opened his mouth. Jack gives him a meaningful look, making absolutely no effort to reach for the bag again, only pressing his lips into a thin line. When Dark crosses his arm, raising a brow, Jack sighs. “Seriously? Are you for real right now?”

“If you keep up that attitude, I think a gag will go nicely with what I’ve picked out for you,” Dark simpers back, all pleasantries, the absolute epitome of niceness. At least for him. “Come, come. Won’t you see what gift I’ve given you?”

“A gift from you almost always means my discomfort for at least three hours,” he bites back, before grabbing the bag with exasperation. He doesn’t dare peer into it as he mumbles out, “Can you at least tell me if this is going to suck?” 

“I think you'll find that you rather like it,” Dark replies smoothly, and those pretty hands drum on the desk, up and down, up and down, up and down, anticipating his next move. “Stop stalling, Jack.”

“I’ll stall as much as I damn well please,” Jack grumbles, before emptying the contents of the bag onto the desk. 

He’s expecting a loud thump of some kind, because normally whatever resides in these bags is a sex toy of some kind, something Dark wants to shove into him or around him or some variant of the two. This has been his life for the past couple of weeks. 

Initially, when he said he’d suck a dude’s dick to get out of dying, he thought that would be the end of it. Like, one little blowjob before Mister Mob Boss decided that yeah, with a mouth like his, Jack could live, as long as he kept himself away from his business. Truthfully, he didn’t think Dark would care about him, given that he was just a boy with an unhealthy habit of getting himself into risky situations. 

That is not the case, unfortunately. No, Dark had decided he liked Jack and his pretty mouth and stupidly slender hips, his fucking ghostly skin, and had offered him a deal that wasn’t a deal at all, but a demand.

_You let me use you whenever I wish, and I let you live._

Jack can’t help but think that this, this right here, is not what c’est la vie means. 

So after the initial blowjob, Jack, hard and horny from sucking cock like a goddamn champ--because despite his awful gag reflex he _knows_ he gives good head--Dark had taken the liberty of humiliating him a step further. Sitting at his desk like some sort of horrible king, voice wrapped in honeysuckle lies about how, if he wanted, he could cum, but he wasn’t allowed to use his hands, lest he lose them.

The message had been clear. Jack had wrestled with it for a good bit, the prickles on his neck an uncomfortable guest, but in the end his foggy mind won him over. Hands still bound, tightly anchored to the man’s knee as support, he’d swallowed down that pitiful shame and grinded himself against his leg like a bitch in heat until he came undone. 

That’s when Dark had tilted him up by the chin, those red eyes lidded, almost...predatory, and offered him the deal. 

What other choice was there? 

At least he gets sex out of it. 

So when that typical thump does not happen, and instead a soft clink greets him, Jack is beyond suspicious.

He sucks in a sharp breath at what tumbles out of the bag.

“You’re really sick, you know that?” Jack says, raising his eyes to look at him. “Like. Really, really sick.”

“You say that as though you’re not squirming at the thought,” Dark murmurs, tilting his head in that mocking, condescending way. “I have an event tonight. You’re coming with me.”

“What the fuck kind of event am I showing up to that you’re putting _this_ in front of me?” Jack gestures. “Are we going to your _sex dungeon_?”

Before him lies a set of black lace panties, soft and silky and blissfully see-through. It leaves very little to the imagination, but at the hem runs little straps down the legs, empty clips at their ends, waiting to hold onto something. And that something is the matching, lace topped thigh highs which were once folded neatly, but no longer since Jack tossed it over. 

He puts his head in his hands. The thought of putting that on… “I’m not doing it. Fuck you.”

“I’m not so cruel as to make you walk around _only_ in that,” Dark says leisurely, patient. “Now, now. I’m going to an art event. I know you have an...appreciation for the arts, if I’m not mistaken?”

Jack glowers at him. 

Dark continues to smile like he’s said nothing wrong. “It’s a formal event. I’ve taken the liberty of picking out a suit for you--should fit you quite nicely. Your job tonight is to shut up and look pretty.”

“In this?” he’s sorely tempted to just _throw_ the garter and stockings at him. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m here to be your fuck toy, not your fucking plus one!”

The man hums out a low tune, one that definitely shouldn’t send a shiver up his spine in the way that it does. “I fail to see why you cannot be both, seeing as that you are mine to do with as I please. Perhaps if you behave, you’ll have some fun. Your suit is in the master bathroom, second floor. You know where. There are razors on the sink--go shave and out everything on, then meet me back here.”

“You want me to what?” Jack is really rethinking this whole death thing. Maybe, just maybe, it might be better. “I’m not gonna--I’m not a girl, Dark! I’m not gonna shave and doll myself up just because you want me to!”

“If you don’t know how,” and that smile, showing far too many teeth, “I’m happy to send someone to help you.”

That’s the last thing he wants. Grinding his teeth, Jack shoves everything back in the bag, gripping it far tighter than he needs to. 

“Fuck you,” he points a threatening finger in his direction. “Eat my ass.”

As he’s leaving the room, right before it shuts, he hears Dark call out, “Perhaps later, darling.”

~~

He feels like something of a cheap whore. 

The back of the limousine is dark, quiet, except for the dull vibrations of the road as they pass the street lights and traffic stops. There’s no music in the car whatsoever, and Dark’s got a hand on his thigh, tapping it idly. Jack had tried to move as far away as possible, but Dark didn’t seem to be having any of that, and so now he could feel the man breathe, they were so close. 

Jack wills the red to fade from his cheeks, even as Dark presses a nail into the pants of his suit. The sheer material feels weird against his shaved legs--he’s literally never had them shaved before, and while the experience hadn’t been completely disliked, the rest of it is uncomfortable. He feels so...exposed, in the garter, and can’t help but fidget at the plug Dark had so wonderfully shoved up his ass.

That hadn’t been part of the agreement, though, none of this really is. 

When he’d returned to Dark, gussied up and something out of a storybook, Dark had looked him over, trailing a hand up and down his spine, smoothing out the creases in his suit. Jack had known the material probably cost more than his entire tuition for college. Once Dark satisfied whatever investigation he’d been taking part in, he’d patted him on the butt.

“Bend over,” he’d said, so nonchalant, like that wasn’t a weird fucking thing to say to someone. But knowing better than to argue any further, Jack had done as told, bracing his hands against Dark’s desk, squeezing his eyes shut as Dark had shifted his trousers down to reveal the panties and garter, and his face burned as he pulled them down, too. 

With absolutely no warning, he’d popped a cap on some lube, plunged a finger in, and stretched him out. It’s not like he needed to--but he seemed delightfully amused at the way that he could work Jack up so easily, and Jack could only bite back so many sounds before it started to escape him. Then, with no resistance, he slid a soft, silicone plug into his hole, before pulling the panties back up.

“Just to keep things fun,” Dark’s hands had been steady at his hips, pressing the words against his ear before removing himself from his space.

He’d announced that it was time to go, and by the arm lead him out and to the car waiting.

So here he was now. Trying to fidget as little as possible, but finding himself unable to properly get comfortable with both the weird material of the panties, which admittedly is soft, and the plug. He takes slow, even breaths. 

“When we get inside,” Dark’s voice breaks that fragile calm, “you are to stay with me. Just follow me around, bat those pretty little eyes, and smile. Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

Jack twists his lips into a scowl. “If you wanted a trophy wife, you should’ve hired a hooker.”

And there’s something cocky about the way that Dark chooses not to answer just then. The car rolls to a stop, nearly jostling him forward, it’s so sudden. He swears Dark’s eyes glow something wicked in the little light as the door opens, and the man steps out with the grace befitting of him, effortless and fluid. He offers out a hand, which Jack takes a signal. 

The moment he places his hand into Dark’s, a delicate, tender grip holds him in place as he brings his hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles gently, as Jack exits the car. Then, taking that hand, Dark wraps his fingers around his arm, pressing it there for a moment, as though to solidify the deal, before letting go.

“None are so nearly as fun as you,” he says, voice low, almost...teasing. 

Jack takes a breath as he leads him into the venue. 

~~

His first indication that something is wrong is about an hour in. 

Jack stays attached to Dark’s arm almost exclusively, listening to him prattle on about something or another. That rich, chocolate voice mingling with the hoity-toity sounds of people who have far too much money and far too much time to be anything but obnoxious. Every time someone looks at Jack--which isn’t often--he inclines his head graciously, offering a smile, but speaking nothing, as per Dark’s instructions. 

And while normally he would hate listening to Dark, some of the way these people look at him isn’t...isn’t comforting. 

Yikes. 

_He’s a cute one, Mr. Durant_ , the chitter, the simpering of the other voices. _Does he speak?_

_Of course_ , Dark’s soft little reply, all cheerful. _He’s painfully shy, but what a sobering experience it is to hear him...quiet for a change._

Laughter. Jack tilts his head down, pretending like he doesn’t hear these people talking about him like he’s not in the room. He presses his lips into a thin line, trying to force his face into something neutral rather than a scowl. 

It’s during this conversation where Jack’s looking at everywhere but the people trying to get a look at him when something feels...wrong. Something wrong in a very particular region. 

No. 

Dark doesn’t move, continuing to chat, and Jack watches the curve of his mouth as he continues on without a care in the world. Whatever weird feeling seems to pass, and maybe...maybe it’s just the nerves. 

Closing his eyes, he sidles up closer to Dark, leaning his head against his arm in a picture-esque snuggling gesture. This, at least, allows him a few moments of sobering clarity, for at least now he doesn’t have to make eye contact with anyone. 

But he should have known Dark didn’t want to make anything about this trip pleasant for him. About thirty seconds into his gesture, he feels that sensation again.

Stronger. 

That’s not just nerves.

The plug.

Fuck. Fuck.

His grip on Dark tightens, sucking in a sharp, uneven breath. He snaps his eyes open, tilting his head up to look at him, but he’s still not looking back.

But sure enough, his hand is in his pocket, and from what Jack can guess, there’s a little tiny remote in there. 

Son of a _bitch_. 

“Dark,” he hisses out, his voice scant above a whisper. 

Dark’s gaze slides to him, and while his expression presents the perfect image of innocence, those eyes know exactly what he’s doing. With a gentle head tilt, the vibrating sensation in his ass heightens, and he struggles to choke down the gasp. 

“I’m talking, darling,” Dark croons at him, seemingly delighted by the way Jack’s dig into his suit jacket. “Be a good boy and wait, won’t you?”

And he can see it in Dark’s face. He’s waiting for him to break. He’s waiting for Jack to admit to this whole fucking room of people that Dark’s got him wrapped around his little finger, that Dark _owns_ him, that Dark controls what he gets and what he doesn’t. 

Two can play at this game. 

Jack clicks his teeth together, offering as much of a small, demure smile as he can.

“Of course, sir,” he mumbles, “do forgive me.”

He sees the flicker of challenge in Dark’s eyes before he turns his attention back to his visitors. 

~~

It’s unbearable, this whole thing. 

He knows there’s at least two people in this room that know something is fucky with him. Every now and again his steps falter, because Dark keeps fucking with the vibration setting for funsies. 

And speaking of Dark...Dark looks to be in a constant state of amusement and the desire to bend him over one of the tables, ripping down his trousers to show everyone was a filthy little slut Dark has made him, panties, garters, thigh highs and all. Like he can’t wait to pull that remote out of his pocket, turn it up on its highest setting so everyone could watch him writhe, desperate and needy. 

He blames the hard-on he’s been sporting on the fucking plug, because that definitely is the source of it, the way it hits him like a punch, with every couple of steps and every shift hitting that special spot inside of him, forcing him to choke down a moan every time. It definitely has nothing to do with the potential of everyone knowing what’s going on. 

“Little flushed there, are we darling?” Dark murmurs against his ear, in the scant five seconds they have away from other people. “I told you it would be fun.” 

“For who?” Jack hisses back, tucking his lower lip between his teeth as Dark fiddles with the setting again. As subtle as he can, he shifts his footing. “For you?”

“Mostly for me,” Dark admits, his breath hot against his skin. “But you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Throat dry, Jack swallows with a bit of difficulty. “You didn’t fucking tell me it vibrated.”

“If I had told you, I wouldn’t have had that gorgeous little display earlier,” the man muses. You know, like a bastard. His soft chuckle vibrates against the shell of his ear. “How many people, do you think, wonder why you’re so fidgety? Why your face is so red, even though you haven’t touched a drop of alcohol? Those soft little sounds you’re making...you’re doing very good, darling. I’d have expected you to break by now.” 

“Fuck. You,” he spits, gasping as Dark trails his lips across his neck. He’s sensitive there anyway, but right now… “Fucking give it a rest.”

Another low, methodical hum. “I wonder how long you can go. I considered putting a ring on you, but it seems that it’s not necessary. Does it hurt?” 

Jack tries not to think about the blood permanently stuck in that head, and tries to keep the remaining blood in the thinking one. “You can’t be immune to this either.” 

“Certainly not,” that voice is almost a rasp, dripping want. “But I am...patient, in pursuing what I want. Watching you tremble like a little bunny, I admit, does…” 

He deposits a kiss, right on his jawline, just as he cranks up the vibration. Jack jerks, but Dark holds him firm. 

“Does excite me, quite a bit,” he’s smiling, the goddamn cunt. “See if you can last the night. If you can, I’ll reward you. If you can’t…” 

“What are you gonna do, paddle me?” Jack asks sarcastically, and for the first time, Dark pulls away enough so they can lock eyes. He lifts his chin just a bit, in a valiant attempt to prove a point, but he really doesn’t like what he sees. 

“Don’t give me ideas now,” Dark mumbles dryly, and god, he really shouldn’t look that good, saying that. It shouldn’t be legal for a man who looks like this to have so much power. It isn’t fair. It’s not fair that this man is such a prick and is so breathtakingly gorgeous in this light. “Come on, then. Let’s go have a seat. Presentations are about to begin.” 

~~

It’s even worse sitting down. 

Mostly because that plug is real damn good at spearing its target. Jack half believes that this plug is stylized perfectly for his goddamn asshole, because it rubs him in all the right ways and _god_ , someone is sitting next to him, and he can’t help but press his knees together, shift in his seat, sway, anything to get relief from the onslaught.

Dark can’t even let him get used to the sensation. Just as he’s getting used to one setting, Dark changes it, either lower or higher. Initially he thought the lower settings would be more manageable, but it only serves to draw little whines out of him because his stupid fucking dick needs _more_.

He should have let them kill him that night. God, oh god, he should have just died that night.

The plug presses up against his prostate again at that low, delicate setting and he can’t help but squirm. Jack had done good up until this point controlling his breathing, but it goes off kilter then, and as a last effort he presses his face into Dark’s shoulder, as though to muffle the sound. 

A whisper. People are staring, despite the presentation of some art founder rambling on about something.

His cock twitches in his pants.

No, no. This is not a kink he needs or wants to learn about. Not now. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, his fingers making wrinkles in Dark’s suit. “Fuck. _Fuck_.”

“Language, pet,” Dark chides, pressing a tender kiss to his temple. “If you need something, ask nicely.”

That lewd, suggestive tone again. Jack shakes his head, gulping down another breath of air. As low as he can, “I can just take it out, you know.”

“You can,” Dark says, equally as soft, “but you won’t.” 

He really might. God, he really might. He can’t remember the last time he’d been this hard. Maybe never. It’s a miracle no one’s said anything about the fucking skyscraper in his fucking dress pants right now. Jack’s about eighty percent sure he could just touch his dick right now and cum, no jerking needed. His breathing begins to even out a bit, adjusting just a fraction.

With little warning, Dark’s solid frame is moving, pulling him out of his seat. Jack stumbles after him, unsteady from the sudden force as the man weaves his way through the building and into the far too intricate bathroom. 

Soon as they’re inside, Dark’s got him pressed up against the wall, his hips pressed painfully against his crotch, and the groan he lets out is _loud_ , too loud in this room, “ _Dark_.”

“You have immaculate control,” he muses, coaxing Jack’s leg to hook around his hips. He smooths his hands along Jack’s thigh, and that gleam in his smile is a reminder that yeah, the stockings there are totally his fault, whether they’re visible or not. “Either that, or you’re just really this damn spiteful.” 

Jack doesn’t have time for a surly retort before Dark’s mouth is on his, locking their lips together. It’s a slow, hungry pace--hot and wet and so sickeningly good. Jack moves to bring his hands to Dark’s hair, to pull him closer, but Dark’s hands pin his wrists to the wall. 

The subtle friction on his cock, the lingering kisses, tears of frustration prick at his eyes as he mumbles against his lips, “Dark, Dark...come on, come on, just…” 

He wants to cum. Jack has never wanted a release so badly in his life. Sure, he’s been teased in the past and he’s certainly teased himself before, but never this long, never quite like this. 

“Do you want to cum?” Dark asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer to that, that same smirk in his voice as he whispers, husky in his ear. “Tell me, Jack, do you want to cum?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jack rasps, unable to stifle the choke as Dark rolls his hips against him. It takes every ounce of brain power he has left to not cum right there. “Just, just, let me--”

The ever present sensation of the plug, still buzzing away like tomorrow doesn’t exist, chooses this moment to reenter his frame of consciousness, and he swears loudly. 

“Mm,” the man hums, thoughtful. “Alright. You can cum. But you have to do one...tiny little thing for me.” 

Jack holds his gaze. Dark places another, fleeting kiss to his lips, their noses brushing as he tears at his heart with those heavy lidded eyes. “Beg me.” 

It takes a lot of energy to not snarl at him. “What.” 

“If you want it so bad,” Dark drawls out, like he doesn’t particularly care for his answer, “so bad that you must interrupt my work, then beg me for it, like a good boy. And if you do it well, I’ll let you.” 

_Like a good boy._

Like a pet. 

Does he do it, then? If he cums now, Dark isn’t going easy on him later. He’s not so bold to think that this is the only sexual exploit he’s planned for tonight, not when his own interest is so...prominent against him. It’ll make the rest of this night so much easier, but there’s no guarantee the plug is coming out, or even turned off for that matter. 

Jack shimmies his hips a bit, his cock in this perpetual wet spot that he knows if Dark could see, he’d be mocking him about. He makes the mistake of tilting his head away, which gives Dark the chance to begin nipping at his neck, each bite a little harder than the last.

“People are gonna see,” he grits out, flexing his fingers, giving his wrists an experimental tug. “ _Dark_.”

“Let them,” he says against his skin. “Let them see. You think they don’t know, my sweet? You think they don’t see that little limp in your step, that permanent tremble in your bones? You think they don’t know who _owns_ you? Who is going to sink their cock into you, fuck you until you _cry_ , begging to stop, until you know only one name?” 

He swallows. Dark kisses the hollow of his throat. “I’m not your pet.” 

“That doesn’t sound like begging,” the man observes, oh so helpfully. “Do you want to cum or not?”

_Yes. Yes._

But he can’t bear that smug look on Dark’s face. “No.” 

Finally, that pressure on his wrists moves, as Dark uses a hand to tilt his head back by the chin. He’s got that lazy smirk again, the one that had never left his fucking face to begin with. “Are you sure?” 

He punctuates this with just enough pressure to be more uncomfortable than it originally was. This shifts the plug, and another hot bit of frustration boils under his skin. 

_Give up your stupid pride, and just beg him. You can handle whatever he throws at you later._

“I’m sure,” is what his dumb mouth says. 

Dark pulls away from him, and if not for the wall behind him, Jack would’ve collapsed, his knees weak. 

“Then let’s get back,” Dark holds his arm out to him, for him to retake his place as his little obedient bunny. “Just another hour to finish up presentations. Then you will have...my full attention.”

Lucky him. 

~~

Jack should have expected Dark to have to get up and talk for a bit. 

In the last few weeks he’s known the man, it’s clear that he’s not only the mob boss of this forsaken town, but he seems to be a very important figure. Some huge beneficiary of the town by the name of Damien Durant. It’s no secret, at least from what he’s seen, that this man funded a large majority of the patrons here. 

Would explain why he was so upset about Jack stealing the art. Ugh. 

So when Dark peels Jack’s fingers off his arm as his name is called, patting him on the cheek before heading up to the podium, he shouldn’t have been surprised. He shouldn’t have been surprised watching him straighten himself out, smoothing out the creases, taking the papers from a man who seems to have been waiting for him. He sets it on the podium, and places something on the podium, small, hidden from sight. 

Dark locks eyes with him, and those lips curl.

_Don’t you fucking dare._

There’s a subtle shift in his hand, and as the vibration kicks up a notch, Jack almost loses it as Dark begins to speak. 

Jack jolts upright in his seat, the sound rippling through the crowd. His cheeks are hot, both in lust and in embarrassment, but Dark doesn’t falter at all. 

His speech takes forever, long drawn pauses that he uses to fiddle with the settings, masked under the guise of shuffling papers or adjusting the microphone. But someone on that stage has to know that it’s not part of the presentation, or has to see that remote and know, and know from Jack’s panting what it is, and that just--that shouldn’t feel the way it does. Jack shifts and fidgets so much that he nearly smacks someone, and quietly murmurs an apology for doing so. 

_Just_ a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes.

But he can’t stop thinking about fucking Dark. When they get back to the house. Dark, pinning him against the wall, biting, sucking, leaving bruises on hips, neck, chest. Dark, releasing him from the confines of his pants, cranking that godforsaken plug up to its full throttle, rubbing him through his panties, growling against his skin, letting him have it, letting him have that sweet release for being _so_ good, so good--

Jack places a hand between his legs, pressing down on the spot, as though to quell the urge, to shut off the violent fantasies so he doesn’t lose this game. He can win this game. If for no other reason than to give a firm fuck you to Dark. 

He’s sure that he blanks out for a bit, so lost in his head, almost willing this horrible, lingering erection away. 

Before long, there’s an eruption of applause, and everything thereafter happens so fast. Dark, pulling him up, his gaze nothing short of sinful as he tugs Jack through the crowd of people, murmuring his farewells, dragging him back to the car which waits for them. The door is hardly shut before Dark is yanking him into his lap, settling him on his hips as he kisses him rough, eager, hungry. 

His hands stay above his waist, but Jack feels the solidness of his arousal pressing into his ass, and he shivers to think that in just a few more minutes, that cock will probably be in him. 

And he hates how ready for that he is. 

Dark seems to be placated in just kissing him, because he wasn’t content just owning his lower region, but he has to own his mouth, too. But Jack’ll be damned if Dark isn’t a fucking phenomenal kisser, just the right amount of biting, just the right amount of rough and sweet, nipping at the jawline, his cheeks, latching his mouth to his neck. It’s almost as though he’s creating a work of art on his skin, and Jack wonders if he would be a piece worthy to steal.

The moment they enter the house, the door still unlocked, Jack gasps as Dark hoists him up, holding him against the wall. On a reflex, he wraps his legs around his waist, allowing Dark to support his weight, and finally that man looks at him with a mixture of amusement and unbridled lust.

“Very, very good,” Dark praises, and those words dripping over his skin shouldn’t feel like it does, it really shouldn’t. “You’ve been such a good pet tonight. Do you know how many men tonight looked at you, saw your tight little ass, waiting to get you alone so they could fuck you?”

Jack lets out a soft, breathy moan. “Dark, come on, Dark…” 

“Do you need something?” Dark kisses at his neck again, occasionally grazing his teeth along the skin to make him squirm. “Use your words, pet.” 

“Haven’t you teased me enough?” Jack asks, bunching his fingers into fists, resting them on Dark’s shoulders. He’s sure he might explode if he doesn’t cum soon, and Dark fucking knows it. “Haven’t I--haven’t I been--”

“You’ve been good,” Dark confirms with a little laugh. “But you still have to ask. Tell me what you want.”

His fingers move to slowly undo his belt buckle, popping the button, slowly pulling down his zipper, but no more.

“Come _on_ ,” Jack huffs, giving him a firm but not hurtful hit on his shoulder. “Dark, you know what I want, what I’ve wanted all night, just let me...just _let me…_ ”

“I want to hear you beg,” Dark croons, hot air ghosting over his ear. “I want to hear you crumble beneath my touch, but not before I remind you who you belong to. I let you get away without saying it earlier, but I will hear it now. Beg.” 

He doesn’t have much fight left in him. That familiar sensitivity burns in his throat, his eyes wet with tears that haven’t quite fallen as he gulps down air, but it does nothing to quell the fire roaring in his gut. “Just...just... _please_ , God, just...please, please, please let me, let me cum, god.”

Shame blooms in his chest and he tilts his head away, unable to look him in the eye. When Dark’s hand moves again, he assumes it’s to finish him off because he’s gotten what he wants, reducing Jack to this. But instead, a strong hand grabs him by the chin, forcing his head back to face him.

Something burns in Dark’s eyes, an unusual glow to them that he hasn’t seen before.

“When you ask for something, you ask _me_ ,” he spits, voice dripping with acid, and Jack’s spine tingles at that tone. “Whatever you need, _I_ will give to you. Do not presume to ask _God_ for something only _I_ may provide. Is that understood?”

Dark’s voice always does something to him, but something about this...this determination, this absolute show of strength, it’s just...he’s a man for sure, but this overwhelming display of authority makes his whole body tremble in anticipation. 

Apparently, he doesn’t answer fast enough for Dark’s liking. That grip on him tightens, and his voice lowers, much like what Jack would imagine a storm would sound like. It’s these short, tentative moments that Jack remembers why he’d been so frightened of Dark that first time, and it would take nothing--literally nothing--for Dark to kill him right now. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes sir,” Jack whispers tasting the title on his tongue, and he watches that flicker in Dark’s eyes. That possessiveness lingers, but it seems to dampen back to that ardor once again. 

“Good,” he replies, relinquishing his hold on his face. His smile returns, albeit softer. “You learn quickly.” 

Despite the praise and how strangely nice it feels, there’s still the issue of his erection. Dark had turned the plug off during the car ride over, so at least that’s not an issue anymore--even if it is still pressing weirdly into him--but he wiggles a bit, and getting off now is very high on his list of priorities. 

Dark says nothing, and waits with a raised brow. 

“Please, Dark,” Jack unfurls his fingers, smoothing his hands over the broad shoulders, before touching his neck, pleading, “I...I need it. I need...you.” 

And the answering chuckle is absolutely devilish, Dark finally yanking up Jack’s dress shirt from where it had been tucked in. He delves a hand inside, fingers dancing over the lace panties for a moment, before finally, _finally_ , pressing his hand against him. 

Jack groans, thumping his head back against the wall as Dark barely manages to get his cock out, the garter and the panties still firmly around his hips. The head is flushed and leaking, causing an immediate stain on his clothing, and before even two swipes of Dark’s hand passes, he’s gone. 

He swears he blacks out for a moment, stars fluttering across his vision, and he’s completely certain that if it weren’t for Dark holding him, and the wall behind him, he would’ve collapsed. His breathing ragged, he can’t help but loop his arms around Dark’s neck, pulling his face closer, gripping at the slightly curled strands of his hair, anchoring himself. 

With his eyes still shut, Jack thinks that despite the awkward position, he could fall asleep like this, a fatigue settling over his body, Dark’s hand having moved from his cock to the skin just above his hip, rubbing little circles into it. He’s sure he’s still shaking, but he hardly feels it as Dark deposits another messy kiss to his jaw. 

How did he end up here? A few weeks ago, he’d just been doing the side gig of stealing shit so he could pay his rent on time and pay off the college loans and the debt that his deceased mother had left him with. Drowning in bills every other day. 

Now he’s being fucked by the mob boss and all of that’s not even a problem, and he can’t quite tell if he’s happy about it. 

Doesn’t feel bad, at any rate.

But the moment of peace, while nice, doesn’t last. Carefully, Dark lowers him back down onto the ground, and when he nearly stumbles over, he’s putting a hand to his chest, steadying him. What a site Jack must be, shirt wrinkled and cum-stained with his pants undone, sliding off his hips, the preview of panties and garter just barely visible. Dark smooths the messy fringe of his hair away from his eyes, tilting his head up to kiss him, chaste this time, before releasing him. 

Scooping him back up into his arms, Jack yelps as Dark carries them away from the front door and up the stairs to where Jack knows the bedroom is. He opens the door and kicks it shut, tossing Jack onto the familiar silken sheets. 

Jack lets out a long, relieved sigh, the cushions of it enveloping him in a sense of security. He can appreciate it, for the moment, his tired body still highly sensitive, even if he doesn’t want it to be. Absently, he plucks at the buttons of his ruined shirt, pulling it open just a bit, to at least aid in getting the sticky away. He kicks off his shoes and just...sprawls. 

Tonight’s not over. He knows that.

When he glances over at the other man, he’s tossing his suit jacket and tie into the corner, both of which have his cum on it. 

“Did I ruin your suit?” Jack asks, not particularly caring about the answer. It’s not like he can’t afford another one. 

“A small price to pay,” Dark replies, moving to the foot of the bed, giving a little twirl of his finger that has Jack spreading his legs, creating a space for him. “You certainly ruined yours.”

“And whose fault is that?” he drawls back, shifting as Dark’s hands trail along his chest, sliding the shirt off his shoulders. He tosses it away. 

“It cost a lot of money,” Dark informs him, like he didn’t know that, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his trousers, pulling them down. Jack lets him maneuver them as he wishes, before soon, they’re gone as well. “How do you intend to pay for it?”

Jack rolls his eyes, focusing on anything but the way Dark rakes his gaze up and down his body, fully aware that all he has left on him is some thigh highs and women’s panties. “I didn’t want it in the first place. You sorta...volun-told me.” 

Dark hums, his hands grazing along his sides, and Jack huffs at his delicate touch. It’s unusual for him to be so gentle, so he’s a bit wary. Normally by this time he’s got a dick in his ass and a face full of pillow. 

“It’s irrelevant, I suppose,” Dark says finally, leaning down to press a kiss to his stomach. “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look like this?”

“Like what?” 

Another kiss, a little higher. “Under me, where you belong. All pretty, just for me. You were so good for me tonight. It was so difficult to not take you over the table, in front of everyone. You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you?”

“God, no,” Jack says, even though the warmth pooling in his spent cock argues otherwise. “I’m good keeping my sex life private, thanks.”

Dark’s hands roam, kissing up his abdomen, idly teasing one of his nipples. Jack’s hands fist into the sheets beside him, trembling at the stimulation, as Dark murmurs out, “They could look all they want. Watch me drive my cock into you, listen to you beg for more, but they can’t touch. They’re not allowed. No one but me. Isn’t that right?”

“You’re such a-- _ah_ \--possessive _asshole_ ,” Jack wheezes out, once Dark decides that the other nipple was feeling lonely, taking it into his mouth with a gentle bite. He reaches a hand up and clutches Dark’s hair, tugging at it gently. “Come on, just, you’ve done nothing but tease me all night. I figured you’d be bored of it by-- _fuck_ \--now!”

“Never,” Dark murmurs, but finally moves his hand to fiddle with the hem of his panties. “One of these days, Jack, I’m going to punish you for that mouth.” 

“You’re a lot of talk,” Jack grouses back, listening to the sound of the garters unclipping from the socks, and in a flash, the last barrier of clothing between him and Dark is gone. His cock, sheen with the dribble of cum from before, is now free, quivering in the open air. 

The man presses a kiss to the head before taking the tip into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. He presses his flat of his tongue to the slit, gently bobbing his head, and Jack moans as his cock hardens considerably. 

Dark pops off his length with an audible sound, before leaning back up to kiss him. Jack tastes himself on his tongue, and that really shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

“I’m going to count how many times you mouth off at me tonight,” Dark muses, allowing Jack to unbutton the rest of his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders to reveal that solid monolith of a man, before fiddling with the button of his pants. “And for every one you do, I’m going to spank you. I think a flogger will do the job quite nicely.” 

Jack shudders at the thought. “Just fuck me, Christ. You’ve never been so slow in fucking me before.”

Dark removes himself for but a moment to retrieve the lube from the bedside drawer, and to remove his pants completely, before he retakes his place. 

“One,” he says lowly, and then without warning, he begins to pull at the plug.

He gasps in, not expecting the sensation to hit him quite so hard. A strong hand bears down on his hip, stalling his movement, as he fiddles with it, pulling it in and out at a teasingly slow pace, seemingly content to just fuck him with that instead of his own cock. 

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Jack says between breaths, feeling the bed sheets bunch between his fingers, so tightly wound that he feels it may rip. 

“Two,” Dark mumbles leisurely, giving a rather rough jab with the plug. “By all means, darling, keep it up. It just means more fun for me.” 

“You are awfully shitty tonight,” Jack wheezes out, trying to maintain some level of bravado but failing at it miserably. “C-can’t even--take me apart with just you? Gotta use-- _fuck!_ \--toys to--get me-- _fuck_ \--started?”

“Three, four,” Dark hums, before _finally_ pulling the plug out. It glistens with the residual lubricant still on it, and at last he can see the object that has caused him so much distress these last few hours. “Five? I’ll count that as five.”

The cap on the lube pops, and within moments two cold fingers breech him. Jack thrashes, unable to stop himself from chasing that feeling just a bit, moaning when Dark brushes against his prostate. “Y-you c-can’t-- _count_!”

“Six,” Dark settles on, twisting just the right way and Jack arches off the bed, only to be brought back down by that firm hand, the one not currently working him to the brink. 

His cock strains against his stomach, leaking against his skin, just below his navel. Dark trails a finger up the sensitive shaft, pressing down on that little bundle of nerves again. 

“How easily you come undone,” he says, more of an observation than anything. Jack hates that he chases the feeling of his fingers, and he’s all but massaging his prostate at this point. A steady stream of pressure, and he’s so close already, he could just--

Dark withdraws his fingers, and he sobs, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Could you not be a fucking tease for five minutes?”

“Seven,” is the reply, and then Dark’s moving away, crooking a finger at him instead.

Jack pushes himself up onto his elbows. He pulls him the rest of the way up, into his lap, and in a fluid motion he switches their positions, his back against the headboard. 

Grabbing the bottle of lube, he presses it into Jack’s hand with a lazy smile. 

“You want it so badly?” Dark asks, inclining his head towards the bottle. “Do it yourself. Ride me. Let me watch as you fuck yourself on my cock, like the good little pet you are.”

That tone sends another shiver up his spine, and popping the cap he squirts a liberal amount onto his hand. He wraps it around the base of Dark’s cock, giving it a slow, languid stroke, smearing it up and down the shaft. Dark makes a pleased little hum, bordering on a growl as Jack swipes a thumb over the head. 

It’s been...a while since he rode someone. Jack thinks he’s done it once in his life, actually, with some guy in college, and they’d both been kinda drunk, but not enough to regret the decision. He remembers it feeling good, at any rate, a little sloppy, but good. 

He gently crawls up Dark’s lap, lifting himself up, his entrance hovering over his length. He braces a hand on his shoulders, and Dark’s hands steady his hips, as slowly eases himself down. The head slips in with little trouble, and Jack shudders at the intrusion, but Dark’s groan, resonating in his chest, is a welcome feeling. 

With little trouble, he sinks down, fully seated on Dark’s cock, and he pauses a moment, to adjust himself to the sensation. He’s been stretched quite well, and the plug did a good job of easing him into it, but it’s not the same as a man’s dick. Dark, in particular, is just the right mixture of long and thick, and with this thought in mind, he gives his hips an experimental roll. 

“That’s it,” Dark praises airily, his hands smoothing over the curve of his ass, giving the cheeks a squeeze. “Fuck yourself like you mean it, now. Go on.” 

Jack wheezes out a breath as he raises himself up before dropping himself back down. It’s...intense to say the least. Somehow different from the way that Dark fucks him, when he drives into him. 

“Do you like hearing yourself talk?” Jack’s voice isn’t as strong as he likes, strained as he settles into a steady rhythm. He revels in the way that Dark’s grip tightens, his mouth twisting as he envelopes him in his tight heat. “You like being... _shit_...you like--”

What he’s going to say both fades from his thoughts and is cut short. It’s interesting, feeling the way that Dark tenses under his touch, the thinly restrained want within him. He can feel him, taut, and those hands don’t hide any secrets about how he wants to pin him down, use him. 

“Eight,” he murmurs in a hush, those dark eyes glistening, tucking a lip between his teeth as Jack clenches around him. 

“Still counting?” 

“Nine,” Dark supplies, then presses down on his shoulder, holding him in place.

He squirms a bit, his throbbing length grazing him in just the right way that Jack can’t help but shiver. He tries to raise himself up again but Dark holds him firm, sitting up further and changes the angle. He’s not proud of the sound that comes out of him, but at least Dark doesn’t seem to be immune to it either, his nails digging into his hips. 

“Ten, just because I feel like it,” the man presses the words against his ear, nibbling on it gently. “Now...no moving. Just sit here. My pretty little cockwarmer.” 

His heart thrums in his ears, his own member twitching at the command. He ignores it in favor of tucking his face into the warmth of Dark’s neck, palms braced against his broad chest, that hotness inside of him overwhelming.

But it was...doable. Yeah. He could just sit here. He doesn’t know why, but. Jack gulps in a short breath, depositing a gentle kiss to the juncture of Dark’s neck and shoulder, going so far as to nip at it teasingly.

“None of that,” Dark chastises, twirling a finger into the unkempt strands of his hair. “Hold still. Do as I say.” 

Jack huffs against his skin, but says no more in rebuttal, choosing instead to settle in, focusing on the way that Dark traces his hands along his back, across his ribs, as though familiarizing himself with the curves, surveying the landscape for future marks. 

He’s not sure how long he sits there, but at some point, the heat in his stomach becomes uncomfortable. Experimentally, he shifts, halted by Dark who gives him a very pointed look. Jack can’t help the little whine that escapes him, pushing against his hold, setting his jaw as he clenches around him.

The little choke Dark emits is definitely worth it, however, there’s a warning growl there, too. And he can’t--he can’t _stand_ this, can’t stand this endless waiting, not when Dark had been so _filthy_ earlier, whispering into his ear, and he feels robbed of it.

“Dark…” he begins, his tongue like cotton in his mouth. Curling his fingers, he leaves subtle little scratches as he murmurs, “Dark, please…” 

“Please?” the man prompts in a rumble. 

Jack chews on his lower lip, tucking his face back into his shoulder, breathing him in. There’s still the remnants of the cologne there, mixed with the sweat, and something uniquely Dark that he can’t name. He paws at his chest, a pitiful request, before he pleads, “Please let me...let me...I need…” 

Dark grabs him by the hair, not harsh, but strong enough to get his attention. When Jack pulls his face away, he looks up at him, meeting that crimson gaze as the hint of a smirk curls onto his lips. 

“Go ahead, then,” he purrs, raising a hand to stroke his cheek. “Fuck yourself. Work yourself to the edge. But you will ask before you cum, understood?”

Jack’s already nodding his head as he begins to bounce up and down again, the anchor of Dark’s hand finally removed so he can spear himself with abandon. His breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and when he shifts his hips just a bit, just a bit it’s--

Fuck, it’s good. 

All the while, Dark croons in his ear, filthy little words, about what a pretty little slut he is, about how tight and hot he feels, wrapped around him so sweet. His nails claw at his back, yanking on his hair, twisting his head so he can sink his teeth in to the red flush of his neck. Those marks will be there tomorrow for sure, the pain of them hung round him like medals of some obscure honor. 

It doesn’t take long, already nearing his climax. A stutter falls upon his hips, and he knows if he goes a little further, just a bit further, he could come like this, untouched. Jack winds his fingers into Dark’s hair, his one fastening to reality as he tastes that heat on his tongue, and with one more pass--

“Stop.”

Without his permission, and with so much tension in his physique, Jack opens his eyes to look at him, to see that shit-eating grin, even with a brow pinched in concentration. A familiar pressure affixes him in place, and Dark utters out, “Wait.” 

His heart races in his ears, the need to move so tantalizing close, and something bubbles in his throat--desperation. “Dark, no, no, please, I--”

“It wasn’t a request,” and the tone brooks no room for argument, almost cold, mocking. “You will cum when I say, not a moment before, and not a moment after.” 

“Please, Dark, please--” the words leave his mouth without permission, as though running on auto-pilot, shimming his hips. “Please, please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I can’t--I need--”

Dark brings his face close, pressing a languid, messy kiss to his lips, Jack still trembling in his grasp. “I know what you need, darling. And I’ll give it to you. But you have to learn some... _patience_.”

He swallows thickly, and Dark kisses his throat, trailing his lip down with a hum. He seems amused by the uncontrollable quiver in him. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Dark tells him evenly, and Jack sighs in relief. “And you do not spend until I have spent, understand?” 

Jack nods hurriedly. Dark hums his praise, pulling out, coaxing Jack to lay on his back again, despite the whine he makes from the loss. 

“And when you do cum, little bunny,” he says, dipping down into that low droll again that reeks of bad intention, “remember to say _thank you_.”

He re-enters with no warning, a sharp snap of his hips, and Jack cries out, feeling the slick warmth and burn, the electricity throughout every individual cell of his body. Dark fills him _perfectly_ , aiming with precision, and Jack can’t help the influx of tears rolling down his cheeks as he holds onto him tight, leaning into the new bruises and bites Dark leaves in his wake. 

The pace doesn’t relent, Jack wrapping his legs around the small of his back, and before long Dark buries himself to the hilt, grunting as he sinks his teeth into the meat of his shoulder. The warm spreads throughout him as he fills him, so hot that Jack swears he can taste it in the back of his throat. 

It’s not long before he’s following after, arching off the bed with a shout, mouthing off a barely coherent _thank you thank you thank you_ as he does. 

Jack collapses back onto the bed, practically boneless, shaking with overstimulation as Dark brings his lips down to his forehead, planting a kiss there. 

“I’ll make a perfect pet out of you, yet,” Dark breathes, pulling out of him. Laying to the side of him, he shushes him when a noise leaves his throat, something akin to a whimper that he has no memory of telling his voice to do. “Shall I clean you up?”

“Since you made such a mess of me,” Jack rolls onto his side, stifling a yawn. “Probably.” 

Dark pulls him against his chest, and despite the smearing of cum and sweat across his skin, it’s oddly...comforting. 

“In a moment, then,” is his response, and yeah, that sounds good.


	3. pretty in patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further apologizes for my subpar smut abilities. 
> 
> But so it goes.

It’s usually a sign that he should be worried when Dark’s got that look in his eye.

Jack swears he’s still recovering from their romp during the gala, where he’d tormented him with a vibrating plug for hours and then made him beg to cum twice, but he can’t deny that the entire experience had been...exhilarating, somehow. Though he’d never admit such a thing to the mob boss himself, he can, however, privately recognize that he may or may not have a submission kink. 

No need for Dark to know. No need for Dark to get any more enjoyment out of their arrangement than he already is. It’d only serve to make him more smug and Jack’s not sure his head could handle that much arrogance. 

But yeah, no, that look in Dark’s eye, the one that made him quiver in his skin so many weeks ago, now just serves to make him exasperated on a deep and personal level. Dark definitely has a crossdressing kink and it’s really, really, really only a matter of time before the full maid costume comes out, probably. In normal situations, Jack is totally fine with exploring kinks with other people, but this is far from a normal situation, and Dark is certainly not a normal man with normal desires. 

He takes a mental bet--more crossdressing, or more exhibitionism. 

And Jack isn’t admitting to the latter. Not even a little bit. 

“What horrible things do you want to do to my ass this time?” Jack rests his chin in his palm, looking up at the man from his little work desk, the only nice thing he possesses in this shitty ass apartment. “Only so much can fit up there, dude. ‘S not a black hole.”

“I find that anything is possible with enough...effort,” Dark replies, with that slightly raised brow, the gentle tilt of his lips. “But that’s to be explored another day, pet.”

He’s still got bruises beneath his collar--fading, for sure, but definitely still there. He’s luckily able to hide most of them for...when he goes out into public, odd jobs here and there, paying some bills. One day, all this debt won’t exist anymore and he can write his blog in peace, but until then, every cent he earns and can afford to hand over goes back to those loan sharks. 

“Great,” he offers no emotion whatsoever, “so. What.”

It’s amazing how expressive Dark can be with just his eyes. In a flash, it shifts, half amused, half expectant. There’s just the subtlest hint of a breath, and Jack rolls his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, definitely not meaning it. “What can I do for you, your majesty?”

“What great fortune it is that I have chosen today to do this,” Dark drawls out, crooking a finger. “Get up. You’re coming with me.” 

“You’re such a gentleman,” Jack simpers, but rises to his feet. Dark holds out a hand, perhaps mocking, but Jack chooses to own the gesture, taking it with grace. He offers back an overly sweet smile. 

As usual, there’s little spoken between them as they make their way back to Dark’s place. Jack thinks about the mound of bills sitting on that small desk, the amount of emails to answer with the scant amount of money he makes from that blog, the leftover money from the little bits of art he’d managed to get his hands on before this entire fiasco started. Sooner or later, he’s going to have to get Dark to let him go out and steal again, because if he doesn’t… 

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Dark comments airily. When Jack scoffs, he actually glances over at him. “What is it? Nervous, are we?”

“I honestly don’t think you can do anything that would surprise me anymore,” Jack tells him. There’s a little laugh at that. “No, I’m. You know why I tried to steal that painting, right?”

Dark doesn’t answer for a good moment. “No, I really don’t. Does it matter?”

“I’m poor as shit, dude,” Jack says, rubbing the calluses of his fingers together. “My parents, when they died, left me saddled with their gambling debt which is...not a pretty number. I write a blog which barely covered my rent at the time, and now with the debt I…”

He trails off. Dark says nothing.

“Let’s just say I didn’t steal for the adrenaline rush,” he finishes, more of a breath than words. “And I’ve got a stack of bills at home taller than me.” 

Still no answer. Jack doesn’t know why he expected something. Like Dark, Supreme Awful Terrible, would give a single shit about Jack and his poor little problems. 

Stupid. 

Dark drags him upstairs when they get to the house, and he tells him to wait. He sits on Dark’s way too cozy bed, soaking in the dreary hues of the room, thinking about what outlandish thing he’ll next write about. Maybe he should start a diary. My days as the mob boss’s pet.

It feels like forever when Dark finally returns, looking none the worse for wear, but his energy feels different, steps a little off. He smiles at him when he returns, though, taking note of his relaxed figure, as though just...admiring him.

Jack shifts, mildly uncomfortable. As though noticing this, Dark looks away, clearing his throat. Whatever had overtaken him moments ago dissolves into that smooth, charismatic figure. 

“Right, darling,” he murmurs, locking the door behind him. He leans against it. “You’re here for a reason.”

Already sensing where this is going, Jack rolls out his shoulders, kicking off his shoes, tossing them across the room. He unbuttons his jeans, but doesn’t make any further action. “Yeah? To fuck?”

“Perhaps not,” is the reply, and Jack can sense the change in that tone. Dark’s got two main voices with him: his normal and his...whatever. Jack supposes the appropriate word is _dominant_ but he’ll never be sure of the terminology. Regardless, it’s that _other_ voice. “You haven’t been good enough.”

“Never stopped you before,” Jack leans back on his arms, tilting his head. “You going somewhere, or should I be getting on my knees?”

“You will,” he says, low, meaningful, and it shouldn’t make him tense the way he does. “But not like that. No, little bunny, you see you...have _quite_ the mouth.”

Oh. 

Jack can’t help himself, though, “Would make choking on your dick kind of hard, if I didn’t.”

But Dark, at least, has the decency to laugh. It’s that rich, low rumble of a laugh, and Jack knows that his dues are coming in hot. He points at him, finger accusing, but his tone...pleasant. “You see, that right there. That little...snark of yours. Doesn’t become you, if I may say so.”

“I think it works pretty well.”

Dark raises a brow, cocking his head, as though soaking in his response, filing it away for...something. Jack licks his lips. “You gonna do something about it?”

“This is where you lack a certain... _tact_ ,” Dark stresses, finally moving to approach him. He tilts his head up, running a thumb along his chin. “You seem unable to be a good little pet, and obey, because of this verbal...dilemma.” 

“I’m not your pet,” Jack tells him, and that grip gets just a fraction tighter. 

“We’ll see about that,” Dark hums, before withdrawing from him. In a louder, stronger voice, he orders, “Strip.” 

There it is. Jack had been wondering when this would come up. The elaborate foreplay often surprises him, usually expecting Dark to just skip right to the part where he fucks him, but oddly enough Dark seems to usually...prefer to get him into it, before moving onto that. It’s oddly thoughtful of him, and Jack chooses to believe that means nothing other than it’s more fun for him. When Jack’s into it. 

Yeah.

Anyway, when the last of his clothing has disappeared, tossed into a messy pile in the corner of the room, Dark hums, pleased, that gaze hungry. It doesn’t alarm him as much as it should. One would think that having the mob boss drinking him in like that would terrify him. 

“Good,” Dark praises him, and yeah, _that_ shouldn’t sound as nice as it does, dripping from his lips like that, like he _means_ it. “Now get on your knees, facing the headboard. Go on.” 

Without comment, Jack does as he’s told, because at least things are moving onward, now. Dark’s got a terrible habit of talking and talking and talking, and even if he does have that ungodly beautiful voice, it’s still nice to get on with it. His knees are supported by the cushion of the bed, and what he wouldn’t give to have a bed like this every night. 

He hears Dark rummaging around behind him, and Dark, unlike most people, has an entire section of his room dedicated to sex toys rather than a chest or a box like most normal people. Jack really wouldn’t be surprised if eventually Dark revealed he had some sort of sex dungeon below this house--he’s got a sexual appetite sated only by...certain means. So that rummaging isn’t new to him, nor does it frighten him. 

It’s only when his vision is suddenly obscured that he’s a little freaked out.

“Shh,” Dark hushes him, tying off the blindfold around his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. Right after we fix that mouth of yours. Put your arms behind your back. Go on, my sweet. There we are, just like that.” 

Jack swallows down the sudden burst of anxiety as he feels the familiar burn of rope grazes across his skin. He’s still on his knees, but Dark seems relatively undeterred by this, shifting and moving him to his will. It’s not just a simple rope job, no, it’s… 

He gives his limbs an experimental tug, but yeah, no, he’s not going anywhere. It’s tight, but not quite tight enough to cut off circulation to anything. He’s still very much got blood going in...all sorts of places. Jack ignores his growing length in exchange for noting the feeling of the ropes against him--knotted, but wound across his arms, his chest, before meeting behind him to bind his hands together. 

Dark makes another pleased little hum, hands roaming over his newly bound skin, dragging his nails down his sides, pressing a kiss to the juncture of his shoulder blades at the soft whine he makes. He bides his sweet time, his touches feather-light as they ghost over his flesh, and he can’t help but arch up a bit into him. 

As soon as it comes, it’s gone. But the hand that leaves him isn’t gone for long, no, Dark’s broad hand coming back to stroke his half-hard cock, the friction rough. Jack lowers his head, letting out a little moan as Dark’s thumb swipes across the head, using the little bit of pre there to give just the right amount of slick. He cants his hips forward a bit, and it surprises him when Dark lets him. 

It’s definitely not long until his arousal flourishes, his cock hard, and when Dark pulls his hand away, it sticks against his stomach, weeping at the slit. But the sweet bliss of that is short lived, and in moments Dark’s slipping a ring over the sensitive head, locking into place at the base of his cock and balls, creating an almost immediate twist in his gut.

He groans, pressing his face into the sheets, fully aware that it leaves his ass on full display. “Really? You couldn’t just--”

“This is not a reward, little bunny,” Dark reminds him, giving his member a gentle squeeze. “This is a lesson. And you will learn it, one way, or another.” 

Dark moves off the bed, leaving Jack to flex his fingers, wondering still how he’d ended up here. 

He’s just getting cozy with the linens of Dark’s bed, thinking that maybe this rope thing isn’t so bad once he adjusts to it, when something stiff and cool runs across his ass and up his back. 

“Do you remember,” Dark drawls out, his voice smooth, silky, “how I told you I was going to punish you for that mouth?”

That sensation. Jack’s never in his life used one, but from feeling alone, and Dark’s words echoing in his mind, he sucks in a short breath. “...Maybe?”

He’s expecting Dark to reprimand him, or to remind him, or to even click his tongue and scold him as he does, but instead, a sharp crack ripples across his ass. It’s not painful so much as shocking, but Dark delights in that shock nonetheless. 

Confirming his suspicions, yeah. That’s definitely a flogger. 

Dark’s never...spanked him before. He’s definitely used the ring before, and the vibrators, and even the rope, but he’s never...hit him before. Not like this. He’s teased him to tears, used a dildo to make him cum all over himself over and over again before fucking him, spent and worn out, so he’s no stranger to a particular brand of torment, but…yeah, no. No hitting before. Plenty of bruises to show off, bites and blood, but nothing other than Dark’s hands and mouth. So this is...

“I realize that I’ve been...much too soft on you,” Dark goes on, and he hears the leather of the flogger rustle together. “And this...delicacy on my end has done nothing but enable this mouthy attitude. So, I’d like you to get acquainted with one of my favorite disciplinarians.” 

He finishes the last word with a pop, letting it soak in, but before he can really formulate an answer, Dark cracks another slap against him, a little bit harder, but still not enough to hurt. Jack gasps, burying his face further into the sheets, trying to will the red away from his cheeks, and the blood from his cock.

“What number did we get to, the other night, ten?” Dark asks, like he’s not wholly expecting an answer. “Ten, I think. But your little display here tonight warrants a few more, I’d wager. So let’s say twenty. I left that gorgeous little mouth uncovered, so you’re going to be a good boy, and count. If you miss a number, or forget to count, we’ll start from the beginning. And remember how you won’t disrespect me again. Is that understood?” 

Jack lets out a shaky breath, nodding his head, knowing Dark can see that gesture, but he’s rewarded with another light but still nonetheless startling slap. “I expect to hear you, pet.” 

“Yes,” Jack breathes out, steadying his voice as much as he’s able. There’s that brief pause in between, and he amends, “Yes, sir.” 

“Good boy,” Dark says, smoothing a hand over his ass, perhaps in a soothing gesture. “And one more thing, pet.” 

Jack guesses it’ll be something like, _feel free to beg_ , or _make sure to thank me_ or something equally as mighty as that. But he’s not really anticipating the next few words, “If it happens to be too much, just say _red_.” 

Oh.

Um.

A safeword? 

It’s appropriate for sure, but he hadn’t ever really...expected Dark to care about that. He understood him to be a sexual sadist, for sure, and definitely loved to work Jack to the brink only to deny him that release, showing him off in public, horny and desperate. 

He didn’t know he could say no.

Maybe he can’t. Maybe Dark will ignore it, if he says it. Maybe, it’s just a power trip. To hold that in front of him, and then not stop. 

Jack tucks it away anyway. “Okay.” 

A pleased little sound comes from him, and Jack feels his heart racing in his ears, knowing that this next hit, it--it’s not going to be like the others. Not light. 

“Remember to count,” he croons, before bringing the flogger down to his skin.

It bites into him, the leather. The initial shock overtakes the burning sensation momentarily, but once the leap in his chest subsides, he’s left with that raw, tingling sensation. He sucks in a gulp of air, flexing his fingers again, as it’s the only thing he can really move, but his shoulders tense along with it as he works through the fog in his mind, “O-one.” 

The tails of that flogger ghost along his skin, only moments before Dark draws back and brings it down again. 

“Two,” Jack says, a bit more even, but not strong, not strong at all. 

That definitely hurt. That definitely hurt more than he’d been expecting. Tears spring to his eyes--it’s an awful lot like being spanked as a kid, or when he used to take rubber bands and pull them taut, slapping them against his skin. That kind of burn. But this is so uniquely different from that, and it’s so hard to breathe, he’s trying to wrap his head around it. 

But it’s not--it’s not _bad_. It hurts for sure, but not in the way that feels...scary. It’s kind of...nice. In a weirdly fucked up way. Grounding. 

He’s hardly through his next breath when Dark strikes him again. He blinks the temporary stars from his vision, focusing on the way that his cock strains against the ring, still slick at the head, and god, what he wouldn’t give to rut against the sheets right now, to soak in this sensation a little better. 

“What was that?” Dark asks, his voice penetrating that thick fog coming into his head. “I didn’t hear a number, darling.” 

“Three,” Jack replies dutifully. 

A thoughtful hum. “I’ll let it slide this time. Don’t forget again.” 

“Yes _s-ir_ ,” he squeaks out in response, halfway through when Dark brings down the flogger again with no warning. “F-four.” 

Strike after strike. Somewhere around ten, Jack feels tears spring to his eyes, welling up at the corners from beneath the blindfold, and it hurts for real now. It’s turned from that burning sensation to a blistering sting, and he imagines that his ass looks like it feels--lots of red welts.

All the while, though, Jack can’t help but almost push back against those strokes, his body almost moving without his permission. With each hit, he yelps, but beneath that lies a moan, so guttural and raw, and if he was hard before, he’s definitely hard now.

He wants to cum from this, god. He _could_ cum from this. Pain is never a kink he thought he had, but _fuck_ if this isn’t doing it for him. 

Jack’s panting, mixed with a soft level of sobbing by the time Dark reaches twenty, his chest heaving from beneath the bonds of that rope, the counting more of a garbled whisper at this point. Dark takes a moment to admire his work, gaze raking up and down his trembling form. 

“So pretty like this,” Dark muses, the tips of his nails trailing up his spine. He brings the flogger down like a brush over his back, letting it rest at his neck. “You’ve done so well. Now, are you going to think twice about using that mouth for anything other than servicing me?” 

He nods against the sheets, swallowing the lump in his throat. Dark, unhappy with this answer, hooks a hand into the knots of the rope, lifting him up with ease, finally getting a good look at his flushed face. He flips his grip on the flogger, using the handle to inspect his aching cock, holding firm as Jack can’t help but squirm at the touch. 

“Still so much spirit in you,” he rumbles, sliding the leather across his torso, delighting in the way that he fights with himself, wanting to move away and simultaneously get closer to it. “Tell me that you’re sorry.”

That haze still flutters in his mind, and though he wants to speak, he really does, he can’t force the words out. Jack opens his mouth to answer, but finds that what comes out is nothing more than a sound--a low, pleading whine. 

With barely any bite behind it, Dark flicks the flogger against his taut chest, delivering a quivering little sting to his exposed nipples, and he trembles at that, another breathy moan leaving him. His nipples are sensitive anyway, but right now, it just…

Dark tugs on the rope a bit tighter, and eventually Jack shifts, resting on his knees leaning back into his hold. With little effort, Dark unties the knot holding his blindfold on, pulling the cloth away, and light floods into his vision. He dares to look over at him when he’s able, fully aware of his flushed face and bitten and splitting lips, and finds that the man is not a hair out of place. Sleeved rolled up, hair still tousled perfectly--the only indication that anything is getting to him is the bulge in his trousers. 

He smirks, then, a subtle tilt of his lips, and follows the movement of them as he repeats slow, even, “Tell me that you’re sorry, my sweet.” 

_God_. That persistent fog still lingers in his mind, and Jack’s never been frightfully more aware of his arousal. His cock _hurts_ , flushed and throbbing with the restriction of the ring, and he wishes that he could touch himself, to relieve some of that ache, but the rope digging into him prevents that. Not to mention Dark may not let him cum altogether if he tried. 

“I…” he tries, struggling to get the words out, wrestling with the urge to say no, to push him further, because maybe… “I’m…”

“Yes,” Dark drawls out, “go on.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack chokes out, with much more difficulty than it should have. 

“For?”

He tilts his head away, a bubbling of shame rising in his throat, but using the flogger, Dark tilts his head back towards him, and Jack finds nothing in that gaze but hunger. “What are you sorry for?”

The skin on his lips rips further under his bite as Jack lets out a shaky breath. “For...mouthing off.” 

“Good,” Dark murmurs, and he brings down the flogger again, its leather tassels ghosting over his exposed flesh. “And you’re not going to do it anymore, correct?”

Before he can answer, he delivers another startling flick against his chest. He cries out, jerking, but Dark holds him firm. “N-no. No sir, I...I’ll be...good.” 

“See to it,” the man praises, before letting go of him. Jack slumps back a bit, trying to work some blood back into his thinking head, but before long, Dark’s tapping his jaw. “Open.” 

Without complaint, Jack opens his mouth. Dark presses the handle of the flogger between his lips, and with no instruction, Jack bites down on it. Dark laughs, rich and husky. 

“Keep that in your mouth to remind you,” he says, before grabbing him by the hair. “Now, lean forward. No noise while I open you up for me.” 

His length brushes against the silky sheets and he can’t help but let out a moan at that, unable to stop himself from rutting against them, gritting his teeth around the handle as he moans louder, finally feeling _something_ against his cock since this all started. 

Dark slaps him _hard_ on his ass, over the blistering welts already forming there, causing him to curse around the temporary gag in his mouth, but it stalls his movements. 

“You were doing so well,” Dark laments, like this is some great tragedy. “And now that I’ve fixed your mouth, you want to touch what isn’t yours to touch?” 

He presses down on the back of his neck, shoving his face further into the sheets--not enough to cut off air flow, but enough to hurt, to be uncomfortable. Dark’s voice drawls, ghosting over his ear, “You’re not going to cum.” 

Jack whines, loud and undignified. 

“None of that,” he orders, cold and unforgiving. “Perhaps I shouldn’t even fuck you. Spread you open nice and slow and then leaving you moaning like a bitch in heat.” 

He moans again in response, pitifully. 

“Or perhaps,” Dark goes on, unconcerned, “since you seem to want it so bad, I’ll just give it to you. As many times as you can handle. As many times as you _can’t_ handle. I could watch you writhe for hours, your voice hoarse, begging me to stop. But I won’t. Because needy little sluts don’t get what they want, do they?” 

It’s hard to talk around the flogger in his mouth, but Jack whispers something that may be _please_ or _yes_ or something of the like. He bristles under his touch, wanting him to do _something_ , anything, because the talking and the teasing is wearing away at him.

The hand pinning him leaves, and before he can properly adjust to this new freedom, a cap pop echoes in the room. Two slick fingers breach him, and an obscene moan erupts from his throat. Dark stretches him open with little finesse, purposefully avoiding that spot inside of him, and he can’t help but huff in frustration, but knowing better than to angle his hips to get it. 

“I’m going to use you,” Dark decides, his voice in a rumble, and he hears the rustling of his belt. “Just like the perfect little toy you are.” 

Jack chokes when Dark pushes the head of his cock inside, giving him very little time to adjust before bottoming out. There had been minimal prep at best, so the burn comes as no surprise but is painful all the same. 

Tears well up in the corner of his eyes as he withdraws a bit, only to ram back into him with a substantial force. He holds nothing back, slamming into him, and Dark’s been rough before, but this--this is new.

But _fuck_ if it isn’t good. The little prep allows for him to slide against him so well, the tightness around him giving way for an influx of new pleasure. He feels so thoroughly used, like Dark doesn’t care about whether or not he’s enjoying it, only about what he wants and what he gets. His nails dig into the meat of his hips, leaving fresh red scratches in his wake as he sets about a punishing pace. 

Dark reaches around and yanks the flogger from his mouth, tossing it across the room before grabbing a fistful of his hair. He yanks his head up and Jack lets out a discordant moan, filling the room as the angle shifts, causing him to see stars in his vision.

“Oh _fuck_!” dripping from his lips in a rasp, “please, _please_. Right there, right there, sir, Dark, please--”

“You’re so tight,” Dark growls in his ear, sucking a bruise into his shoulder. The sharp thrust of his hips doesn’t falter at all, a steady pressure building within him. “No matter how many times I fuck you like this, no matter how hard, no matter what I put in you. You’re just a perfect little _hole_ for me.” 

Jack’s only answer to that is another filthy whine, piercing in the room. His chest seizes at the sudden realization that they--they probably aren’t alone in the house. Even though Dark owns the place and for all intents and purposes it _is_ his house, he often has his goons roaming around the place, coming in and out, and any number of them could--they could hear--

With a few more rough thrusts, Dark shoves his face back into the pillows before bottoming out, coming inside of him with a grunt. His own erection still twists against his stomach, and as he feels cum drip out of his ass with Dark’s withdrawal, he whimpers at the loss. 

“Poor little pet,” Dark croons, folding his chest over his back, reaching a hand around to toy with his aching length. He sobs into the sheets as he tries and fails to get any sort of thrust behind the touch. “You want to cum, don’t you? But you’re not allowed because you couldn’t sit still like a good boy.” 

He wraps his warm hand around his arousal, thumbing at the ring keeping him from his release. Tears stream down his cheeks, frustration and something absolutely _delicious_ wrapping in his chest. 

“Please,” he whispers, strained, unable to thrash away from his touch. “Please, please sir, please, I’ll--I’ll be so good, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything--”

“Anything?” and there’s that hotness again, that vibration in every cell of his skin. The voice that keeps him up at night with sultry promises and decadent whispers and he hates the fact that this man holds so much power in him, all of his pleasure, but _goddamn_ he loves it, too. 

That seems to be his recurring emotion with Dark. He loves and hates what he does, how he makes him feel, the high that he gets from being around him. It’s dangerous, and he knows it’s dangerous, but he can’t stop how good it feels. 

“ _Yes_ ,” is what comes out, raspy and unclear. “W-whatever you want, I--”

“I’ll never get sick of listening to you break,” thrums his voice again, so low and rich with mirth, a tangled amusement laced in something...lustful. “You’re all attitude until you’re under me, and a few, pretty little touches... _here_ …”

A long, languid stroke, and Jack actually tries to jerk away this time, but Dark’s free arm wraps around his chest to hold him in place. 

“And you’re nothing but a whimpering little _whore_ ,” Dark spits, and the answering chuckle at his sob only serves to egg him on. “Isn’t that right?”

And something in him trembles, the boil of disobedience spiking in his throat. Jack presses his lips into a thin line, shaking his head, thinking that now is not the time to be arguing, but he can’t force the words out. 

“Listen to that silence,” Dark says, amused, removing his hand from his throbbing cock to smooth a sweaty hand through his disheveled hair. “Lost your voice, pet? Unwilling to admit what a perfect little _mess_ I make you?” 

“I--I’m not,” he begins, voice hoarse. “I-I’m not your--”

“Tell me that you’re my pretty little whore and I’ll let you cum,” the man pets his hair, mocking, but so gentle at the same time, the semblance of something...kind. It shouldn’t be like this, it shouldn’t make him squirm quite like this inside. The want to please him. The want to be good for him. It shouldn’t feel like this at all, but it _does_. “Tell me how I _ruin_ you, and I’ll give you your release.” 

_Fuck. Fuck._

He’s so fucking smug, knowing just how to talk to him, just how to touch him to destroy him, and it’s not fair, how easily he spins him up, but he can’t--

“I’m _yours_ ,” Jack shouts, feeling that resolve within him crumble, though it’s more of a breathy croak than anything, “I’m--I’m your pretty little w- _whore_ \--you make me feel s-so--” 

He chokes out the word _good_ , but it’s hardly out before Dark’s hand wraps around the base of his cock, tugging at it before the ring slips off. The moment it loosens its hold Jack cries out, cumming hard as Dark strokes him through it, milking him for all he has. 

Panting, he keens as Dark pulls his hands away, almost wanting him to stay close, somehow, like they haven’t been close all night. He presses a soft kiss to his shoulder, and then another to his temple as he pulls him up into a sitting position, snug against his chest, the rumpled fabric of his dress shirt--which is still on--rubbing against him.

Dark wraps his arms around him, and Jack tucks his head into Dark’s neck, as he tries to get his breathing back under control. The roughness of Dark’s hands smoothe over his skin, a welcome gesture, despite how shaky he feels.

Once he seems to have settled down, Dark moves quick--his hands move upward, slowly undoing the knots binding him together. When the whole rope harness comes off, he rubs his thumbs over the marks left behind, and Jack shivers as he kisses each one with reverence, almost. When he gets control of his arms again, he moves them to wrap around himself, blinking the fog from his mind. 

Dark murmurs something in his ear, but he doesn’t quite hear what it is, too wrapped in his own thoughts to really process it. Jack curls his legs into his chest, considerate, mulling over what had just happened, and becomes acutely aware of the stinging along his ass--presumably from the spanking earlier. As Dark slips away from him, he rolls over onto his side, alleviating some of the sensation as he closes his eyes. 

Though, Jack doesn’t get long to appreciate to quiet. Moments later, Dark scoops him up into his arms, snorting at the little yelp Jack emits. He walks him into the bathroom, where the scent of lavender and bubble bath greet him. Without comment, Dark lowers him into the steaming bath waiting for him, and god, that feels nice. 

Yeah, this...this is nice. Dark remains eerily quiet as he scoops up some of the water, wetting him down, moving his hands along his skin, down the places where the rope dug into him, along his hips where he’d gripped him hard. It’s soothing, and without thinking he closes his eyes. 

Before long, though, Dark withdraws a sponge. He soaks it for a good moment, and then moves to wipe him down.

Jack grabs him by the arm. “Um.”

Dark raises a brow. He says nothing, but has that look to him, and Jack actually laughs a bit.

He lets go. Dark continues with his work. 

So he sit back and enjoys it, liking the way it feels to be cleaned of the sweat and cum coating his skin. Dark’s entirely quiet throughout the whole thing, but does murmur, more to himself, something about not breaking skin, so things are alright. 

After the man deems him sufficiently cleaned, he leaves him to finish up and get changed. On the sink lies an oversized shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs. 

No pants, though. Figures. 

He dries off and steps out, the clean linen of the shirt fresh and welcome. It’s soft against him, and though it doesn’t cover his bottom half, it’s still nice. Jack steps out of the bathroom in a puff of smoke, to see Dark changing out the sheets with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. 

Nicotine wraps around him, but for once it feels...welcome. Once the sheets are changed, Dark points at it before shuffling past him, closing the bathroom door. 

Not one to argue with fresh sheets and a soft bed, Jack crawls into it, the fatigue of their activities washing over him. His sex life has never been so active as with this fucking man, but Jack can’t say it hasn’t stirred something in him. It solves absolutely none of his financial problems, but the very least he gets to enjoy himself in the days before he dies of debt. 

Jack’s drifting off when the bathroom door opens, and Dark’s steps begin to pad towards the door.

“You’re leaving?” Jack asks, the first coherent words he’s really been able to say in a bit, almost feeling too big for his mouth. 

“And here I was thinking I’d fucked you out so perfectly you were out cold,” Dark mumbles, the traces of something...fond in his tone. Perhaps in his fatigue, he’s imagining it. “I’ll have to try harder next time.” 

“It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before,” he yawns, in what he attempts to be an argument, though he’s content to snuggle down further into the warmth of this bed. It’s ten leagues better than anything he could ever afford. “Stupid.” 

“Seems that mouth still needs work,” Dark comments dryly, but draws closer all the same. It’s amazing how much presence he can command in the room, even now. Yet...he still...definitely wants him closer. “For another day.” 

“Just keep your hands to yourself,” Jack murmurs, feeling the weight of another person slide in next to him. “You’ve touched me plenty, I think.”

Despite this comment, Dark still places a delicate hand at his waist, a stark contrast from their earlier ministrations, pulling him against his chest. He’s warm and solid, and against his weary bones, it’s...more comforting than it needs to be. But if he said it isn’t nice, he’d be a liar, and Jack’s trying to live at least somewhat of an honest life.

“Sleep, little bunny,” the ghost of his words tickles his ear, “I’ll behave.”

 _I don’t know if that’s possible_ , Jack thinks.

Something suspiciously tasting of safety bubbles in his chest as Dark wraps his arms around him, but he can’t be bothered to comment on it as soft, sweet oblivion claims him.


	4. icarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Content Warning: torture & murder, anxiety attacks--discretion is advised, just in case. **
> 
> No smut this chapter--sorry about that! This project quickly went from being a PWP to a bit of a plot bunny, so I'm doing some developmental chapters as they come to me. Back to the smut next chapter for sure, but please bear with me as I work through the plot related stuff! Hope you guys like it anyway ♡♡
> 
> Addendum: Shoutout to my good friend Adam for both inspiring this part and helping me work out the finesse for the development! Super rad dude and a lot of this fic wouldn't be here if it weren't for his help!

_Meet me in my office._

Dark can’t even be bothered to come and get him now. One day in the following months, Jack had received a text on his phone from an unknown number, holding all of the pompous arrogance of Dark’s entire being in a single stream of words, telling him he wanted him to come by, and that a car would be waiting for him once he left his apartment. 

Jack had been halfway through his next blog entry, detailing some study tips that he had learned going through college before dropping out some months back. His fingers itched and his eyes burned from staring at his screen for so long, but it helped him to stay distracted from the third notice this week about the rent being due.

It’s a miracle that he hasn’t been kicked out yet. He thinks the only reason he hasn’t been is because his landlord used to know his mom, and had a bit of a crush on her back in the day. 

Small things, Jack thinks. Small things.

Dark Goddamn Lastname really isn’t making life any easier. Jack is shorter on cash than he’s ever been in his life, whatever meager savings he’d had all but flushed down the toilet with a blink of an eye. Maybe he can start whoring himself out a bit for some extra cash, though he imagines that Dark won’t like it if he sees other people touching him. 

Not that he could get Dark to pay for his rent, and his bills. He obviously doesn’t care about any of that, and Jack’s already getting his portion of the deal--he gets to live. Dark gets sex. It’s the way that it is. 

He needs-- _needs_ \--to find another job. But with half a degree and a fucking ridiculous schedule, it’s so hard to apply himself. Dark calls on him whenever he wants, whether that’s in the morning or the night or anywhere in between, and he very well can’t just tell him he’s busy. He’s liable to get shot for that. Or choked. Or something equally as unpleasant. Without an income, though, he’ll be _living_ with Dark, and that’s…

...Not a terrible idea. But not high on his priority list. Living with Dark would probably entail something far less nice than a bed and a roof over his head. 

So yeah. To say that he’s frustrated with the stupid fucking text from Dark is an understatement. But he’s been through this rigmarole so many times at this point that he’s got it down pat. None of Dark’s goons even bother screening him. They know he’s their boss’s pet. 

At any rate, Jack is getting to know the driver pretty well. An increasingly eccentric individual by the name of Wilford. He talks on rapid fire, like someone’s fast-forwarding him, almost, but he makes the trips over somewhat bearable. 

“I swear you look tinier every time I see you,” Wilford says, agast. “Take a vacation, dear boy. Gain some weight.”

“With what money?” Jack fires back, sinking back into the seat. God, he could fall asleep right here. “I’ve told you how poor I am, haven’t I?”

“Get Darkling to take you out, then,” Wilford muses, like he can just _ask_ the mob boss for some _help_. “I’m sure he’s noticed your state of being by now.” 

Jack shrugs. “If he does, he doesn’t care.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” is the murmured reply, “it’s just a low priority, that’s all.”

Ouch.

Yeah, that sounds right, though. Jack, his living sex doll, is a rather low priority on the scale of things to worry about. His walking, talking, breathing fleshlight isn’t something he needs to worry about, because if something happens and he dies, he’ll just get a new one. A new pet. A new toy to play with. Why bother fixing an already broken one when he can afford so many others? Jack’s not the only pretty boy with a pretty mouth and fairly substantial sex drive going around. 

“You’re always in the clouds, dear boy,” Wilford says with a laugh, interrupting his thoughts. It’s not really that funny, but Jack politely chuckles anyway. “Icarus. I think that’s my new name for you.”

“How do you figure?” 

“You’re way too high up,” he replies easily, with that same, almost unreal smile. “So stressed about the things that don’t matter, instead of what’s in front of you. Come down, or you’ll drown, Icarus. You know how the story goes, don’t you?”

Jack says nothing, mulling over that thought, and for a moment...yeah. It fits. But he thinks maybe drowning would be better than this. No more stress, no more bills, no more hauntingly red eyes and devilish smile. No more anything. 

“Isn’t it cute how that bit rhymed?” Wilford asks, yanking him from his thoughts, as he pulls down the stop towards that house. Towards Dark. “I’m getting rather good at this.” 

He offers no reply. 

~~

To get to Dark’s office, one must walk through the numerous warehouses along the way. 

Wilford never takes him directly to the house--something about safety or some nonsense. The very first time, Jack had feared that one of Dark’s goons would jump him--sexually or otherwise--but Wilford had laughed and said no one would dare to touch him, because he was Dark’s and nobody fucked with what was Dark’s.

Little comfort, then. More comforting now. 

So in his ratty, worn out sneakers, he trounces through the grounds, following the beaten path between the warehouse and the house itself. Jack can’t understand why they’re so close together, and why that would even remotely be a good idea, but apparently Dark’s so goddamn good at everything and has half the city in his pocket, too. 

What a fucking asshole.

Something sobering washes over him as he approaches the large structure, feeling a sense of both dread and blooming excitement. Jack doesn’t remember the last time he went out and had “fun”--doesn’t remember the last time he could afford it. When Mom and Dad died, he had to drop out of college, and there’s been about two people that have tried to maintain social contact with him. But Jack doesn’t have the luxury of friends right now. So it’s strange to him, when he actually...does stuff with Dark. Despite what a prick he is, it’s...it’s the most fun he’s had in ages. 

The office is past the warehouse. Jack meanders his way across, raising a hand in some general direction, knowing that the place is under some pretty strict surveillance. At the risk of getting sniped on the spot, it’s best to put up a hand, a small gesture that everyone seems to understand now. 

He doesn’t get shot, at any rate, so he assumes it works. 

All is well until Jack’s just about cleared the place. Stepping across the path, he hears...something discordant, in the distance. He stalls in his paces, interest perked, and then, louder, that sound becomes a _scream_.

_Keep walking_ , Jack, he tells himself.

But he doesn’t, like a dumbass.

Jack whirls on his feet, immediately tracking back to the source of the sound, towards the warehouse. The scream devolves into something of a moan, definitely not one of pleasure, and his skin crawls at the visceral, absolutely _raw_ sound of it. It shakes him in a way, similar to the fear he’d felt the first time he’d seen Dark, and that--that’s not good.

The door to the warehouse is cracked, something he hadn’t noticed before, and labored breathing permeates through that sliver--desperate and raspy, as though the person’s been tortured, voice ripped from the throat like a yanked out tooth. Jack’s hands shake as he dares to peer through. 

Maybe it’s not bad. Maybe it sounds worse than it is. 

Inside shows a man, suspended by his arms to the rafters by chains, a tattered mess of skin and rags. The tips of his toes barely touch the ground, muscles straining, and god, he’s covered in so much blood, dripping from every inch of him, shaking like a dam waiting to burst. Abandoned to the site are rusty pliers and specks of white that Jack prays are something else other than teeth. There’s a pool of blood at his feet, and Jack can only guess that it’s his own. 

Before him, flipping a knife between two gloved hands, is Dark.

“What a mouthy little shit they’ve sent me,” Dark drawls out, and that...that’s a new voice. Jack has always quantified Dark as having those two voices: normal and sex. But this one is...cold. Dreadfully bored. “We’ve barely gotten started and you’re _already_ crying for your mother?”

Barely?

The man looks like he’s seen hell, walked out, only to find the devil didn’t live down there. To find that he’s no little red man with pointed horns and a forked tail, but rather a sharp man in a fine suit, disturbingly handsome with a smile that drips poison with every breath. 

Dark grabs the man by the chin, winding the tip of the knife delicately against his heaving chest. He doesn’t puncture anything, and yet the man jerks away from him as though he’d been burned.

“Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Fowler?” Dark asks, his tone conversational, as though discussing the weather. “Why you’re tied up like a lackluster prize from a hunt I never participated in?”

Jack watches the knife slide down, creating a little red streak in its wake. Blood beads at the surface. A brief pause spans the silence, and Dark laughs, the sound almost echoing in his ears. 

“And now you’re quiet, after all that singing for my attention,” he says, forcing his face down to look him in the eye. “You see, Mr. Fowler, you’ve made a mistake. You, took something from me, and refused to do one thing: give it back.”

Fowler whimpers and Jack can’t help but shudder at the sound. “You--you don’t understand, I--”

“I understand perfectly,” Dark cuts him off, that tone turning acid, and Jack feels its sting, recoiling a bit at the sound. “You took money from me, and when I gave it to you, we made an arrangement. You would pay it back. Isn’t that right?”

“I--”

Dark withdraws his hand for but a moment, and in a flash backhands him, the chains clanking together as another cry escapes the man’s lips. 

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer,” he snarls, and the sob that leaves the man’s mouth has Jack covering his mouth to hold back whatever wants to leave him. “You really are a fool, Mr. Fowler. One might call you an _idiot_. You see, normally, I can’t be _bothered_ to deal with the pathetic drivel such as yourself. I normally send my dogs. That’s what they’re there for. But you...you just kept pushing. And pushing. If you had just paid the money back, we wouldn’t be here. If you had just taken your punishment, we wouldn’t be here, now would we? Would’ve been just a couple of fingers, one for every day it was late. But no, what did you do?”

Dark’s lips twist then, another unnatural smile blooming. He slowly presses the tip of the knife into his shoulder, bearing down more pressure, inching it in. Agonizing. Fowler wails as Dark holds him steady.

“You thought you could _run_ ,” Dark murmurs, something akin to glee in his tone. “You thought you could get away from _me_. And I, well, I don’t like that, you see. So unlike you, I intend to uphold my end of the bargain we made. Do you remember?”

“Sir, please,” Fowler rasps, an almost panicked desperation filling him as he trembles. “I can get the money, I just need more--”

“Yes, yes, you just need more time,” and that tone, so _bored_ , so _mocking_. “The problem with that is I don’t feel like waiting anymore. Your little _game_ has _bored_ me, and unfortunately for you, when I get bored, I seek to...entertain myself. I told you, Mr. Fowler, when I lent you this money, that if you failed to pay it back to me, I would kill you.” 

He pulls the knife out, not even flinching at the bits of blood that spray back at him. Fowler is openly sobbing now. 

Something visceral twists inside of Jack, this pure, unbridled need to reach out, to throw that door open and _stop_ him, stop this goddamn torment, but he remains rooted in his place, fearful of revealing himself. The shaking in his form becomes keenly aware to him, and he’s so grateful he’s got a hand over his mouth, for fear of vomiting. 

Jack shouldn’t be watching this. He shouldn’t be here, watching this man die. But something spells him, harnesses him to this place, and he doesn’t think he could run, could get away, even if he wanted to. 

“And unlike you, I _always_ keep my word,” Dark whispers, his voice soft, so quiet Jack strains to hear it. “Say hello to the devil for me, won’t you? He never writes anymore.”

In a flash, Dark buries his knife into the man’s neck, the gush of blood washing over him, staining the black of his suit and gloves. Fowler thrashes and chokes for but a moment, before the animation, the life in him fades, and he slumps against the bindings. 

Jack stumbles away from the door, pressing his hand hard to his mouth, breathing in and out, forcing himself to swallow the vomit back down. His skin burns with some unknown sensation, an unbridled fear rising within him, and finally that spell keeping him here lifts, and he runs. He runs far from that fucking warehouse and the now dead man, wishing, willing himself to go home, to curl up within the sheets of his dingy apartment, but there’s--

There’s no time for that. Dark...Dark will want him soon.

This is the man that Jack sleeps with, the man that Jack has let touch him in places that few others have been awarded the privilege. The man who Jack’s always known to be the leader of the mob, cold and cruel, but not like this, never like this.

He stumbles into Dark’s office, curling up behind his desk, trying to even out his breathing. Silent tears begin to roll down his cheeks, and _fuck_ , he can’t stop trembling, but he can’t, he can’t make any noise. Someone will hear him, and--

Dark can’t know. Dark can’t know he saw that.

_Get it together_ , McLoughlin, he tells himself, rocking himself gently. _You knew he was bad. You knew. He almost killed you when you met._

That’s right. That’s right. Dark almost strangled him with his bare hands if Jack hadn’t offered to suck him off like a whore. Dark would have killed him. He knew he was a murderer. This isn’t new.

It does little to soothe his nerves. 

Jack’s not sure how much time passes but eventually, his heart rate slows. He wipes his eyes, hoping that his cheeks and eyes don’t look as red or as puffy as they feel. He swallows down the rest of the remaining bitterness, sitting in Dark’s desk chair, as per usual. The leather does little to comfort him, but it does straighten him out, and he turns to face the wall, away from the door. 

It’s heart-stopping, that moment, when the door opens. He forces himself to remain still.

“There you are, pet,” Dark murmurs, his voice so normal in stark contrast to how he’d just heard him. Normal, as though he hadn’t just murdered a man in cold blood, not long ago. “I had wondered if you would show, or if I would have to collect you.”

“You wanted me, didn’t you?” Jack asks, hoping his words don’t quiver as much as he feels them in his throat, clenching his fists to even out the tremor in his fingers. “So I came.”

The door shuts, locking. But Dark makes no move to get closer, and Jack remains fixated on the wall. 

“You’re rather agreeable tonight,” he muses, and fuck, he definitely knows something’s up. “Turn around, Jack. Let me look at you.”

_Don’t think of this. Don’t think of him burying a knife into a begging man._

Jack turns around, and pushes his next words out, “I literally look the same as I always do, your majesty. A little bit more tired, that’s all.”

And there he is. Not a hair out of place. No signs of the gloves or the suit jacket stained in blood. Just a simple button down, rolled up to the elbows. Nothing wrong at all, as though he’d never done anything wrong in his life. 

“You look pale,” Dark observes. 

“It’s been a long time since the sun and I had a date,” Jack replies. “Been very, very busy with the King of Cocks.” 

Dark’s lips tilt into a smile. He shakes his head, but he seems amused, if nothing else. Jack watches as Dark approaches him, his footfalls light, clicking on the hardwood floor. 

“I’m a busy man,” he says, and without prompting, Jack rises to his feet. Dark, ever the few inches taller, looms over him, and never has Jack been more frightened of him than this moment. Not even when they first met. “I like to have my fun when I can get it.”

He smoothes a hand over his cheek, tilting his chin up, and Jack fights back the shudder, knowing that mere moments ago those hands had done the same to another, a knife pressing deep into his flesh. He swallows, and Dark seems to watch the bob of his throat. 

And just when he expects Dark to say more, to ask him something else, to prompt him further, he leans down and kisses him gently, such a light and...delicate touch, in such juxtaposition to his normal ministrations. It’s frightfully easy to fall back into that rhythm, allowing their lips to slide together, slow, almost...sweet. Dark’s hand settles at his waist, and it’s...it’s _nice_ , for sure, it’s…

Dark breaks the kiss, abrupt, but trails his lips along his jaw, pressing his lips up against his ear as he grabs his ass, pulling them closer together. 

“I have been thinking about your pretty mouth all day,” he purrs, his warm breath ghosting over his ear. “It seems even when you’re not here, you drive me wild.”

“I have that effect on people,” Jack rumbles back, looping a loose arm around his neck as Dark begins to press lazy kisses down his own. 

“Do you now?” Dark asks, and seemingly, he doesn’t care about the answer, but for some reason, Jack tastes something off about the question, something bubbling beneath the surface. “You do this often?” 

The last sentence is punctuated with a harder grip as his hips, Dark pressing him back against the desk. He doesn’t move, his lips stalling at the pulse point on his neck, and Jack wonders if he could bite him hard enough to kill him. 

Probably not. 

When so much time passes, Jack realizes that he’s expecting an answer, that grip unwavering, and so Jack murmurs out, “No, I...I don’t have time, really. Just...I did. When I was in college. So I’m told.”

“Mm,” and something clutches in his chest at that sound, so raw, contemplative, and not for the first time this night is Jack understanding what a monster this man is. “Good. Keep it that way. I don’t share.”

“You’re one of those?” Jack huffs, and his mouth finally starts to move again, squirming under the jagged edges of his teeth. 

The words are hardly out of his mouth when Dark sinks his teeth in to the meat of neck, where it meets his shoulder. He gasps, unable to move away as Dark holds him firm around the waist, the flat of his tongue soothing it as he says lowly, “Call it what you will, darling. I’m just not in the mood to offer up to others what belongs to me.” 

_Belongs to me._

That’s right. Dark fucking owns him now, for better or worse. Mostly for worse. But Jack lets him smooth his hands down his sides, pushing up the material of his hoodie, ghosting his hands across the expanse of his stomach. He seems to stall there, contemplative. But continues mapping him out moments later. 

“You’ll get bored of me eventually,” Jack mumbles, and his skin can’t help but crawl at the memory of those hands, encased in gloves, dripping blood. _And then you’ll kill me like you should’ve months ago._

But he doesn’t say that.

“No more talking,” Dark orders, his nails grazing his tender skin. He presses the words against his ear, and another one of those shivers scurries down his spine. It’s both hot and unsettling all at once, and he hates the mixed signals his brain is sending. “I don’t want to hear anything else unless it’s you moaning my name.”

And logically, this shouldn’t be any different. It shouldn’t be different, letting Dark touch him like this, letting him pop the button of his ratty jeans, sucking bruises into his neck, shoving shit off of his own desk to deposit Jack onto it like some sort of precious cargo. It shouldn’t be any different, feeling the hardness of his arousal against him, shouldn’t be as hard to wind his fingers into that hair as he brings his mouth back to him, pushing his tongue past his lips. 

It shouldn’t be, but it is.

It isn’t like Dark is hurting him. Far from it. No, he’s doing what he normally does, getting Jack worked up, getting him heated and ready for whatever thing he wants to do to him. The hotness of his tongue _owning_ his mouth, possessing every part of him, feels far from painful, but the saltiness of that memory lurks in his mind. 

Would he be that man someday? Once Dark got tired of him, sick of his remarks, sick of a wiry boy with an attitude from hell? Would he be the next one tied up, tortured, before finally having his throat cut? Or would Dark simply choke the life out of him as he had been want to do, so many months ago?

Dark surprises him, though, when he pulls away. Jack sucks in a deep breath, and only then does he become aware of the wetness on his cheeks. He raises a hand, startled, and he tastes the salt of his own tears. The man stares at him, inquisitive, those unnatural eyes burning into him with a furrow of his brow.

Something tasting of fear seizes in his chest. Jack wipes his face off in a rush, murmuring fast and desperate, “I--fuck. I’m fine, I--”

“It does not become you to lie to me,” Dark says, cutting him off. He grabs him by the chin, tilting his head up to look him in the eye. “What hurt you?”

He licks his lips, before sinking his teeth into the flesh of them, and Dark seems transfixed on the way he gnaws on his lower lip. “Nothing, nothing, I just--”

“ _Jack._ ”

And god, he doesn’t like the way his name drips from Dark’s lips just then, reprimanding and harsh. 

_Dark can never know what I saw._

The rush of blood flashes in his memory. The wailing. The screaming. The clanking of chains.

A fresh set of tears fall. People always expect him to be a loud crier, because he’s such a loud person. But to everyone’s surprise, even his own, he’s always been quiet. Whimpers here and there, shaking hands and body, but ultimately soft. He’s always been. Barely a whisper when his parents went, even if he was destroyed on the inside. 

_Dark can never know what I saw._

_He’ll kill you. He’ll kill you._

“Did you like it?” is what he says, in the end, because maybe, maybe death is welcome at this point. He’s not sure. “Did you like killing him?”

Jack watches the confusion dance across his face for but a moment, realization soon dawning on him. He could’ve laughed at the way his lips parted, inquisitive, and for once he thinks he’s rendered Dark speechless. Another picture for the metaphorical scrapbook. Dark withdraws from him, then, running a hand through his hair.

“You spied on the warehouse,” Dark says, not a question. 

His gaze flickers to him. Jack nods mutely.

The man heaves out a sigh, and his chest rises and falls with the gesture, somehow still maintaining a level of grace. He shakes his head, perhaps contemplative, and Jack closes his eyes as more tears stream down his cheeks.

“You were not meant to see that,” he murmurs, like Jack doesn’t already fucking know that little detail. “You know what I am, Jack. I do not understand why this surprises you.”

“It doesn’t. It’s not that, I just--” Jack swallows the lump in his throat. “I just. It scared me, that’s all.”

The _you scared me_ is unspoken, but from the soft sigh, it’s definitely heard.

Dark says nothing. The quiet drowns him, almost, and he’s absorbed in the sound of the blood rushing through his ears, his fingers shaking. He thinks of Mom, and Dad, and how maybe, just maybe, none of this will matter in a moment. 

He’ll die, or...or maybe Dark will fuck him anyway. It wouldn’t...shock him, for that to happen. Maybe he prefers Jack to be involved, to like it, but it’s not a requirement. It’s not like Dark couldn’t hold him down and use him like the filthy little whore he is. Jack’s almost certain forcing him into sex isn’t beneath him at this rate, because he obviously enjoys Jack’s sexual nature, and if he can’t get it one way, then maybe...

Jack sucks in a sharp breath when Dark grabs him by the arm, pulling him forward. It takes little effort for him to stumble to his feet, but once he gets on them, Dark lets go of him. 

And Jack waits. He waits for the _turn around_ or _bend over_ or _get on your knees_. He waits for any of it, and prepares himself to choke down a cock even if he wants to vomit right now, readies himself to breathe through spreading his legs and hoping to god that he can shut off his tears for a bit. 

“Go home,” is what Dark mumbles, after so much goddamn time, breaking his fragile facade. “I’ll have someone take you back. Get out.”

And that--

That was not what he’d expected. 

Jack uses his sleeve to wipe away the still falling tears. “Just like that? You’re not, you’re not gonna--”

“You’re in no position to be doing anything other than feel sorry for yourself,” Dark says with a grunt. “Go on. Pull yourself together. I’ll call for you later in the week.”

“You’re not gonna force me?” 

Another low, annoyed sigh.

“Something you fail to realize, Jack, is that not _everything_ is beneath me,” Dark tells him, patient, but still quite miffed. “It is far less entertaining to engage in sexual activity when you have to force the other person. There are _plenty_ of other means of achieving that heightened sense of power.” 

The mob boss finally turns to face him, straightening his shoulders out. He stretches out his neck, and he listens to the pop of those bones, before Dark takes a seat in his chair. Still perfect, still something pristine about him--a poised air of confidence and regality.

“Erotic fear tastes far better than absolute terror when it comes to fucking,” he says. “To put it simply, I can’t be bothered with forcing you as I will receive nothing out of it. Therefore, as you are unable to provide for me at this time, you may go.”

“Just like that?” god, he wishes his mouth would stop moving.

“Just like that,” Dark confirms, and then swivels his chair in the proper direction, sliding papers from his left side in front of him. “Go home, gather yourself. I expect you to have handled this when I call you next. Understand?” 

Jack feels the relief wash over him, and from that, he could start crying again. But that’s a venture for home, rather than here. He sucks in a deep breath, nodding, before muttering, “T...Thank you.”

Dark waves a dismissive hand, and it’s official that his attention is no longer concerned with Jack. But still, he’s…

Grateful. He’s grateful. 

What a bizarre thing that is to feel, regarding the mob boss.

Using this moment of calm, Jack isn’t one to overstay his welcome, and makes his way to the exit.

~~ 

“You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“That thing,” Wilford tells him. The radio plays low on the drive back, an incoherent tune drumming on in what almost feels like static, given everything that’s happened tonight. “Thinking too much. I figured Darkling fucked you out too much to do much of that.”

Jack offers a shrug. Wilford looks over at him, and it takes a few moments for his brain to catch up with how long he’s not been staring at the road. When he notices, though, Wilford looks away, as though nothing happened. 

“Speaking of, don’t I normally take you back the next day?” Wilford asks. “Or is it tomorrow already? By god, I don’t know anymore. You see my conundrum?” 

He laughs. Again, Jack doesn’t find it very funny, but laughs quietly in response. 

“Oh,” Jack murmurs, after a moment. “No, I’m...no it’s still today. It’s just. We didn’t. I’m, uh, not feeling well.”

“Bully,” Wilford mumbles back. “See? I told you. He’s a right ruffled mess under all that bravado, dear boy. I would go so far as to say you scare him.” 

Jack snorts. Dark, afraid of him? Wilford says a lot of weird things for sure, but this one takes the cake. “I don’t think that man is scared of anything, ‘specially not a twink from Ireland.” 

“There you go again,” he sighs, making a sharp turn, one that nearly jostles him from his seat. “You don’t look at the big picture. So wrapped up in the obscurities of it all, the details that don’t matter. Take a step back, Icarus. Get away from the sun.”

Shaking his head, Jack looks out the window, watching the dusky pink sky fade to midnight blue, hidden behind the height of his apartment building. Wilford pulls in, and puts to the car into park as he unlocks the doors. 

“You’re funny, Wilford,” Jack tells him, opening the door. “Maybe someday, I’ll understand what you’re talking about.”

He closes the door, but not before a soft tone full of mirth chirps out, “You will.”

And then the car is disappearing down the road.


	5. dialtones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I don't know how to write phone sex. 
> 
> Shorter than usual (by about 1k) but next part will be longer! ♡

Dark hasn’t called him in...a while.

And to say that it scares him is an understatement. 

Perhaps _scare_ is an improper word. It freaks him out more than anything. After their last meeting, wherein Dark let him go after Jack witnessed him murdering a man in cold blood, he hasn’t heard so much of a peep from him. His warning of “get yourself together” had kind of stuck with him after the whole thing, but ultimately it seems to have amounted to nothing. Hot air, so to speak, because there hasn’t been the barest hint of a whisper from him, even with the explicit statement of “I will call you later in the week.” 

But he’s not...exactly complaining. So, in some ways it’s good, not having heard from him. Jack’s been able to focus on writing a whole lot more, interaction, and he actually manages to hold on a conversation with his friend Robin for more than a not dead text.

Though bills still seem to loom overhead like a most unwanted axe, something surprises him in the mail. When he receives the perfectly printed envelope, Jack’s really and honestly expecting it to be an eviction notice of some kind, because he can’t remember the last time he paid rent in full, but finds that it’s no such thing.

_Dearest Seán,  
It brings me great pain to have learned of your current situation. Life isn’t fair, is it? No. Your parents should never have had a child, if this is how they were to treat you, though there’s little that can be done about that, now. _

_My late sister, your mother, and I were quite estranged. We were half siblings to a fault, and rarely got along. It would not surprise me if you had never heard of me, or were in any way enlightened that your mother had kin. Don’t bother trying to find out much of anything on me. Everything you find will be rather dull, I’m sorry to say._

_The purpose of this letter is simply to try and alleviate some of that stress on your shoulders. My sister has always been irresponsible, with money and everything else, so it bears no shock to me that she wrongfully left you saddled with her and her miscreant of a husband’s debt. Enclosed in this envelope will be a cheque for a substantial sum--use it to pay for your necessities, be that bills or food or otherwise._

_It will not cover the full amount of that debt, of that I am certain, but it shall certainly aid you in your endeavor as you push onward in a most unforgiving world._

_Consider finishing your schooling. I understand you have a management degree left unfinished, and if this is something you wish to pursue, I am more than happy to assist you in this._

_I hope that with this money and communication, you’ll find yourself less frustrated with life, as there are many grand things to be experienced, and you are young still. You are meant to enjoy it._

_Yours,  
Morris Warren_

The signature is done in a swirling script, beautiful and perfectly done. Jack’s hands shake as he pulls the check out, but nearly drops it at the amount of money signed onto it.

He’s not sure he’s ever had that much money at one time, ever. He’s not even sure if he’s ever had that much money at any given time over the course of his short life. Even when Mom and Dad were still around, they weren’t--wealthy. Not by any means. They lacked money in a lot of ways thanks to the lovely gambling addiction, but at least, unlike now, Jack never went hungry.

This much money could set him for...weeks. Months, even. If he plays his payments right and squirrels it away, Jack could live off of that for a good while. Maybe even afford to take himself out, if he wants. To actually stock food in his fridge for more than a day at a time, and have more than frozen meals and leftovers.

Christ. _Christ_.

This has to be a joke. This can’t be real. This can’t be a real fucking letter. 

Jack pinches himself. He winces at the pain, and continues to stare at the letter blankly.

Mom had a brother. Mom had a brother she never talked about, never breathed a word of, never even hinted at. Could that be true? Could this really be true? Or is this some twisted joke? A scam, perhaps? 

And to finish his fucking degree? As if he could do that. Jack can barely handle having a job with Dark breathing down his neck, let alone throwing himself back into the academia sea. No, that degree is going to be left unfinished for all of time, and Uncle What’s-His-Nuts is just going to have to like it. 

Uncle. 

_God_. 

The check is signed out to him, his full name. Seán William McLoughlin. God, how long it’s been since thought about his full name. But more than that, if this check with _his_ name bounces--and it probably will--not only will he be in even _more_ trouble, but he’ll have that debt on top of it, adding to the mountain he’s already got crushing him. 

Jack shakes his head. No, he can’t. He can’t risk it. Even if his heart wants to try it, try so _fucking_ bad because at this rate he’s got nothing to lose. He doesn’t even have dignity anymore because he’s letting the mob boss fuck him six ways to sunday. But good things like this don’t just _happen_. Random relatives don’t just show up from the woodworks, giving him money because they feel sorry for him. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. 

It is. It has to be.

But he can’t bring himself to rip it up. 

With a ginger touch, he tucks the check back into the envelope, and tosses it onto his desk. He stares at the neat mailing address for a long time, trying to find any hint of Mom in that handwriting, but it doesn’t look anything like it, not at all. 

Figures. The writing will have to do for now. 

~~

It’s been a little over a week since he’s heard from Dark, and after the third night of waking up with a boner, he’s kind of had enough.

Jack has never been one to have a particularly active sex life, mostly just occasional fucks here and there with people that he liked back before he had to drop out of college. But once he started up with Dark his body sort of...adjusted to that frequency, so suddenly not having it almost feels like withdrawal. 

Not that he misses Dark’s arrogant attitude.

Or his strong hands, his rich voice, telling him how good he is. Or those fucking eyes, boring into him, like he can hide nothing, like he sees all of the filthy things Jack thinks of at night--

Fuck. That’s not helping.

God, before Dark, Jack can’t remember the last time he’d been with someone, sexually or otherwise. Working a job from home, his interactions with other human beings have been few and far between. He’s always been a rather touchy person, relying on physical contact, but since everything happened he’s devolved into something of a hermit. 

Dark, as it turns out, had been feeding that insatiable need for physical stimulation. And now Jack wants more of it. 

That fucking sucks. 

He still hasn’t been able to figure Dark out. Dark, with his wandering eyes and delicate touches, with his absolutely obscene mouth and hushed whispers, and yet he...he let him walk out. Didn’t punish him for seeing something he shouldn’t have, didn’t force him onto his knees and use him to get off as he does. No, he just...sent him home. To figure it out. To come to terms with it. No touching. No real reprimand. Just...something tasting suspiciously of kindness.

A wrong assumption, for sure. But…

It isn’t like he’s forgotten about what Dark did. What he saw Dark do. But Dark also wasn’t wrong--Jack knew from the start what he was, what he was capable of, what kind of shit he got into. And he struggles to remind himself that Dark had definitely almost killed him when they met, and would have, if he hadn’t offered up the deal. After that first night, he hadn't had any nightmares, and it just boiled down to a simple, uncomfortable thought. 

How fucked up he is. 

Dark doesn’t _seem_ eager to have Jack join the same fate, at least. For the time being, it’s painfully clear that he rather likes--or at least, finds amusement--in Jack’s presence.

_Stupid man_ , he thinks anyway. _Stupid unfairly attractive bastard man._

It’s unfair, how even when he’s away from Dark, he just wants to be closer. Just wants to feel his hands wrap around his wrists, hold him down as he touches him slow, languid, brushing his lips over throat, deciding where to place his next mark. There’s something so delicious about waking up in the mornings and feeling an _ache_ everywhere, ghosting his fingers over every mark, every _brand_ left behind in his skin. Despite the fact that he thinks Dark’s a right asshole, and a murderer to boot, his brain still won’t stop concocting imagery of him and his gorgeous self, and still won’t stop giving him boners at the most inconvenient times. 

This would be a hell of a lot easier to manage, he thinks, if Dark were unattractive. But because he’s not, because he’s tall and muscular with an absolutely smoldering look, stunning lines and perfectly jutted angles, it’s a lot harder. Every mob movie had prepared him for some fifty-year-old Italian man with the ugliest mustache imaginable, and then all that gets shattered with beautiful, enchanting Dark who looks like a deity of some sort and it’s just horribly unfair. 

Touch-starved. Jack’s so unbelievably touch-starved that he’ll take the mob boss putting his hands on him as opposed to going out and finding someone else, as opposed to hitting up a club and going home with some guy or girl and taking care of his needs.

Person could end up dead, if Dark’s warning is anything to go by, though. 

Eugh. 

Jack stares at his phone for a long time, the highlighted number of _His Majesty_ hovering back at him. He could. He could call that number. He’s not entirely certain what will happen when he calls that number, because he’s never tried. That number has never even called him before. Just texts. 

What would happen if he called it?

Immediate death, perhaps? 

Probably not. He wouldn’t be so lucky. 

He finds that he stares at it longer than anything, but eventually decides that out of all the things to go wrong in his life, this can probably be the least of his concerns. Jack presses the phone icon, watching as the device flickers to life. 

With shaky hands, Jack raises the phone to his ear, listening to the dial tone.

God, he hasn’t been this nervous since getting that girl’s number in high school. 

_“Little bunny,”_ and that deep, rumbling voice fills him, and Jack hates the way his spine shivers at the tone. _“This is...certainly a surprise.”_

Jack swallows thickly. “Hey, you’re the one that picked up.”

_“You’re the one that called.”_

Yeah, he sure did. 

Licking his lips, he murmurs out, “I just...um. You haven’t. Called, er, texted. In a bit.” 

A low, methodical hum, that has no business doing what it does to him. _Fuck_ this guy, seriously. Jack feels himself squirming under his gaze and he’s not even looking at him.

_“And so I haven’t,”_ is the reply, warm, almost fond, but more teasing than anything. _“What’s wrong? Do you miss me?”_

Jack scowls. “No. I just--it’s weird. That’s all. Thought maybe you were dead, or something.” 

_“Unfortunately not,”_ Dark murmurs, and _Jesus_ , is this just his normal voice? Or the one he just reserves for Jack? _“If you want something, my sweet, you need only ask.”_

He grits his teeth, fighting against the small part of him melting at the implication. “I don’t want anything.”

_“Is that so?”_ he purrs, and he can feel that smirk on his lips. Dark laughs, rich and low, perfectly on the cusp of decadent. _“Very well, then. I am, to dash your pretty little hopes, not dead. So if you needn’t anything else…”_

Another lump forms in his throat, and he struggles to choke it down. “Yeah, yeah. You’re a busy man. I get it.”

_“I’m never too busy for you, Jack,”_ and Christ, he sounds so honest, raw and guttural. It’s the voice that both keeps him up at night in absolute terror and the one that sports his three AM boners. _“A master must always make time for their pet, no?”_

Something bristles at the back of his neck, like a puff of cold air, and Jack’s lips twist in a scowl. “I’m not your pet.”

_“We’ll see about that,”_ Dark whispers, the words rolling off of his tongue in a way that shouldn’t be as fucking beautiful as it is, like a closely guarded secret, something reserved for him, and only him. He sounds so fucking sure, like he knows the inner workings of Jack’s mind and what he really wants. _“Call again soon, pet. I have...missed your voice.”_

“Go to hell,” Jack says, and without waiting for a response, ends the call. 

The reality of the situation doesn’t dawn on him for a few moments. But as his lockscreen stares back at him, the clock ticking to a new time, Jack realizes with a sobering clarity that he did, in fact, not only tell the mob boss to go to hell, but hung up on him as well. 

Maybe it’ll be okay.

Maybe. 

~~

Jack lasts a grand total of five days after that phone call before he breaks again. 

He gets himself off in the bathroom every fucking morning, waking up with an erection bordering on painful as he struggles to push those iridescent eyes away from his mind, banishes the thought of Dark’s hands holding onto him, his warm breath ghosting over his skin, telling him to touch himself, to come undone. 

Never in his life has he been so submissive. But Dark Mob Boss Man seems to bring out the worst in him, seems to make him want to bend over and just _take_ whatever this breathtaking man wants to give him.

There’s no real way to win this little debacle of his. He knows how the story ends--Jack giving in, begging Dark to fucking touch him, to get him off, to put him through the ringer so his insatiable appetite will be sated for a couple of days at least, but maybe he can have some fun with it. 

After all, from previous experiments, Dark’s also affected by their excursions together. So for every bit that he teases, for every way that he makes Jack writhe beneath him, he feels it, too. 

Jack gnaws on his lower lip on day six, settling into his bed after a long day of emails back and forth and arguing with his landlord. His boxers already strain against his aching cock, and the tension in his body feels like a wind-up doll three turns too tight.. He slips a hand inside, palming himself with the flat of his hand, resisting the urge to rut against himself as he picks up the phone in his other hand, tapping call on the number for Dark. 

He tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder, leaning back against his headboard as he begins to stroke himself slow, lazy, as the ringing continues. He lets out a low groan, thinking that maybe Dark will choose this day not to pick up, and what fucking luck would that be. 

For once, fate seems to like him. After a moment, the ringing stops. 

_“I was wondering when you’d call again,”_ comes Dark’s soft voice, gentler than normal, almost...tired. But attentive all the same. _“Did you need something, my sweet?”_

Jack shimmies his boxers down, exposing his length to the cool air, feeling it twitch in his hand as he gives it another languid stroke, a breathy sigh leaving his lips. Giving himself a gentle squeeze, he arches a bit into his own touch, feeling the warmth bloom in his cheeks. 

“I really hate you,” he breathes out, swiping the pre from the head of his cock down the base of his shaft. His mouth falls open in a low whine. “Like...really hate you. I want you to know that.” 

That long, contemplative hum, and Jack’s cock jumps at the sound of it. He moans softly, but still louder than he would’ve liked, doing his best to hold it in as best he can, at least until later.

It doesn’t seem to go unnoticed. 

_“Ah,”_ he mumbles, like some great epiphany. The smugness translates well through the phone. _“My filthy little whore. Are you touching yourself?”_

Jack keens lowly, pushing his hips up to thrust into the loose fist he’s made. 

_“What a naughty pet, touching what isn’t his,”_ and that--that shouldn’t make him squirm the way it does, and lets out another little whine. _“You’re going to listen to me very carefully. Do you understand?”_

He pants, murmuring a hasty affirmation, despite not wanting to concede so easily. It’s ridiculous how easily Dark settles into this role, how easily Jack settles into this role, and he feels Dark’s presence despite him not being here at all. 

_“I want to hear you to stroke yourself for me,”_ Dark orders, continuing on with that honeysuckle voice, the one that’s gotta be magic somehow, the way it wraps around him so sweet. _“I want to hear the way you whine for me, for all the times you’ve done this without me here. Put me on speaker. Do it now.”_

With a trembling hand, Jack grabs the phone from its tucked position, clicking the speaker button. He settles down into his sheets, pumping his length in earnest, mouth falling open as the sparks of pleasure tingle up his spine. 

_“Slow, now. Easy, elegant touches,”_ his voice drips in want, and Jack couldn’t stop himself if he tried, twisting his wrist as he slows his pace, the friction tight and hot, enough to elicit another moan, too loud for these thin apartment walls. _“Good boy. Now keep going. I want to hear you writhing. Tell me how much you wish those were my hands beckoning you, squeezing you just right.”_

Picking up the pace, Jack continues to pump himself, quickening his strokes as he bites down hard on his lower lip, the warmth building into a hot pleasure. Though he tries to stave it off, whispers begin to leave his lips, telling him all of his filthy thoughts from the last few days, how he wishes Dark were here to hold him down and get him off nice and slow. He thrashes against the sheets, and what spurns him on is the low groan that comes through the receiver, a harsh exhale, and it excites him, knowing still Dark’s not immune to this either.

_“Open yourself up,”_ Dark purrs, his voice shockingly clear despite his voice coming through the phone. _“Fuck yourself open on your fingers, as though preparing yourself for me.”_

What feels like a spell washes over him at the command, Jack reaching out for his bedside drawer as he continues to stroke himself, swallowing down gulps of air in between each pass, and with trembling fingers, he withdraws the bottle of lube that, before meeting Dark had hardly seen the light of day, but this week has been on a fucking joyride. He kicks off his boxers the rest of the way, sitting up on his knees as he pops the cap on the bottle, loathing to take his hand away from his throbbing shaft as he squirts a generous amount onto his shaking hands. 

Breathing deep, Jack pushes a finger into himself, squirming against the initial discomfort. It’s not weird, and it’s certainly not an alien feeling as he stretches out the ring of muscle, but it never stops being kind of awkward. Once he settles into a rhythm, he slips another inside, shivering as he returns his free hand to his cock. 

_“Beautiful,”_ Dark murmurs, and though again he knows that Dark isn’t really there, the compliment catches him off guard, sending a vibration through him that trembles in his core. He sounds so breathless, so lustful and low, and something hot bursts within him knowing that he should fear that voice, but he keens at it instead. _“Just listen to yourself, my sweet. Listen to how perfect you obey me. Your sounds are_ divine _\--all for me, mine._ Mine.” 

He opens his mouth to tell him off for being a possessive ass, to retaliate in some way, but as he scissors his fingers, giving a sharp jab with them, stars flutter across his vision and he cries out. His heart hammers in his chest, and he feels so overwhelmed but in such a good way, even as tears well up in his eyes. 

The snarling, primal grunts coming from the phone isn’t helping his case at all--though it does make him feel a tiny bit less embarrassed about this whole thing, which sits in his throat like the roommate he probably needs so he wouldn’t be doing shit like this. Dark’s breaths come in short bursts, and Jack wishes he could see what a wreck he must be right now, behind all the bravado and sultry murmurs. 

As he spears himself with his fingers, practically bouncing on them as he strokes himself rough and hard, he nears his climax, his springs winding up taut and uncomfortable in the pool of his stomach. Jack’s voice gets louder, his moans becoming sobs, and before he knows it his tongue begins to move, a string of syllables that sound like pleas, but he’s not entirely certain. 

_“Cum for me,”_ Dark commands, and his voice lowers even more, pressing against every cell in his body, and he shakes with the intensity of it. _“Make a beautiful mess of yourself to the sound of my voice. Cum for me, Jack.”_

“Dark, Dark, _Dark--!_ ” and with another swipe across his length he’s gone, spilling out onto the sheets, trembling as cum splatters across his chest, all staining his hand as he trembles from the intensity of it. 

Wayward tears stream down his cheeks as he pulls his fingers out, heaving a huge, relieved sigh as his cock goes soft. His heated skin now appreciates the cooler air of his apartment building, and for a moment he closes his eyes, allowing himself to soak it in. He uses his now free hand to stabilize himself against the sheets, listening to the raspy breathing through the phone, before something so completely animalistic travels through the device.

And damn if his cock doesn’t make a _valiant_ effort to get hard again at that sound. 

Despite this, Jack takes a few minutes to just _breathe_ , attempting to clear the fog floating around his mind, and as he swallows he notes that Dark is oddly silent on the line as well. 

He runs his tongue over his lower lip, tasting the subtle hint of blood from where his lips had dug into the flesh, trying and failing to hold back every sound wrenched from him. 

_“Still not my pet?”_

Of course the bastard couldn’t let him have his fucking moment in peace.

“Nope,” and goddamn it, why does his voice choice _now_ to crack on him, straining from all the moaning he’d done five seconds ago? “Don’t got a collar, and certainly don’t come when you call.” 

Dark chuckles, a haughty little sound, amused and delighted with that hint of something sharper, hotter. It sounds absolutely devilish, and his cock definitely twitches at the sound. 

Bastard.

_“Your performance just now would certainly suggest otherwise,”_ is his response, wrapping around him in the worst kind of way, and he feels the phantom warmth of his breath on his cool skin. _“What a refreshment you are, my sweet. So much fire in you.”_

He licks his lips. “I prefer to be referred to as a snack, your majesty. Just for future reference.” 

Another breathy purr. _“Delicious, no doubt. Don’t clean up.”_

Jack shudders. “What?”

_“Don’t clean up,”_ Dark repeats, slower, almost as though giving him time to process it properly. _“Not yet. Take a pretty picture for me.”_

“You’re such a freaky cunt,” Jack tells him, and though the idea make his stomach twist in a sense of excitement, he still feels nervous about it. “You want a picture of my limp dick covered in cum? Is that what you want?”

_“I was more inclined for a photo of your tuckered little face,”_ he replies, that mocking lilt returning, _“but by all means, if you want to send me your cock, I certainly won’t complain.”_

Jack’s never taken a dick pic in his life. The concept sort of speaks for itself. You get your dick out. You take a photo of it. Done. Right? No more to it than that?

“And what if I just,” Jack says, taking it off of speaker, raising it to his ear, “don’t. What if I just hang up?” 

The sound that reverberates back to him is enough to actually terrify him. Not in a way that he fears for his life, but it’s just such a chiding hum. This man seems to be able to communicate in nothing but various pitches in hums, and it’s kind of freaky, really. 

_“I’d punish you, of course,”_ comes the response sticking to him in that raw, lustful way, the same voice he’s used practically all night, _“because that would be very bad of you, pet.”_

There’s a temptation there, so completely blindsiding him that he can’t help but follow through with it. It’s like an impulse that he can’t--or won’t--stomp out, and in a moment, Jack’s pulling the phone away from his ear and slamming the ‘end call’ button. The screen flickers and returns to its lockscreen, and Jack feels more winded than when he’d been jerking it like two minutes ago. 

For sure, there’s gonna be retribution for that. No doubt about it at all. But Jack’s got about three hundred other issues that scare him a hell of a lot more than Dark, and he’d gotten what he wanted. A good fucking orgasm.

It doesn’t surprise him either, receiving a text a few moments later. 

_Come to the office tomorrow._

That sounds like a problem for future Jack to figure out. That’s what he tells himself as he peels himself off of his bed, towards a lukewarm shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is, as always, voidskelly.tumblr.com! Feel free to bother me there!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thank you so much!
> 
> Feel free to bother me over at voidskelly.tumblr.com!


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